


The Music Room

by PorcelainRose



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Terminal Illnesses, eren x levi - Freeform, ereri, levi x eren - Freeform, riren - Freeform, rivaere - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorcelainRose/pseuds/PorcelainRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi Ackerman resides in a facility for the terminally ill, angry and bitter toward the world for being stripped of his life before he's even allowed to live it. He keeps to himself and in fact shuns any kind of social interaction with anyone. That is, until he stumbles upon the music room, inhabited only by a cancer-ridden teenager who's just as lonely as he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. -Day 1-

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anime_or_scifi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anime_or_scifi/gifts).



> Hello~! While this isn't my fist fic, it is my first on ao3. I generally use wattpad but was encouraged to try this site, too. Enjoy!

I first see him in the music room.

I'm wandering around the building when my ears pick up the faint sound of an out of tune instrument and I automatically follow it, wanting nothing more than to shut that incessant, ear-splitting noise up. But when I poke my head past the doorframe and see the bald kid sitting at the piano, I don't have the heart to go in and tell him to stop playing.  
He's so into it; his eyes are closed and he leans into his playing, looking almost like the professionals you see on TV, thinking they're Beethoven or someshit. It's annoying, the way they seem to move like the damned instrument is part of themselves or something ridiculous of the sort.

This kid moves the same way, with his face so serene and blissful as he plays. It's no different from the so-called experts, but that isn't why I don't stop him as I'd originally planned. I let him continue because he looks so at peace, so in his element while his delicate, pale fingers dance across the keys to produce a sound that might be nice were it not for the untuned, dusty thing it comes out of.

It is evident simply in the way he appears that death looms closely over his shoulders, ready and waiting for just the right time to consume his fragile body. Though, many of the people here look that way. And while he's no different, the way he seems so happy to be tapping away at the yellowed keys compels me to stay and listen, to give him this moment where he is so utterly happy to be playing that piano, and I have no right to step in and ruin that for him.

The broken song comes to a soft end and his fingers slide off the keys, landing on his skinny thighs with his sweatpants pooling around them on the old wooden bench. His eyes slowly open, and the bliss is replaced by something that might be easier to place were I closer.

The second I make the decision to turn, walk away, and head back to my room is the very second his eyes lift to meet mine. His smile radiates across the room, and though he hasn't said anything, I feet obliged to step through the doorway, hands stuffed in the pocket of my hoodie.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asks in a scratchy voice.

"Not long," I tell him.

"Did you like what I played?"

I can't help but nod. It isn't a total lie. I know it would sound nice if the strings were pulled correctly.

"That thing's out of tune," I say, indicating the baby grand with a nod of my head.

"I know," he sighs, tapping one of the keys. "I'm happy they finally let me in here to play it, though."

A smile twitches at his pale pink lips again. I can only think to nod again. I know this isn't a room often used; most of the residents here don't know how to play any kind of instruments or are too sick to. I am part of the former, but I'd never had any kind of interest in them.

"Do you play?" he asks, eyes flicking back up to my face. It's like he can read my mind. Freaky.

"No," I answer.

"I see. Well, would you like to come sit?" He scoots toward one end of the stool and pats the empty space next to him. At first I want to decline, make some excuse about how I should get back to my room, but I don't. Instead I find myself crossing the room and taking a ginger seat next to him. I never remove my hands from their little nest in my pocket, nor do I take my eyes from his face. Even with his distinct illness - lack of any hair to speak of and the pallid state of his complexion - he's handsome, with large seafoam colored irises and a pleasant, babyish face.

"I'm Eren," he conveys, that vibrant smile returning as he offers his hand to shake. I take it and shake, noting the cool yet soft state of his skin.

"Levi," I murmur.

"Levi," he repeats, and I immediately decide I like the way my name sounds rolling off his tongue. "I can remember that."

"So what song were you playing?" I ask, turning my eyes to the keys of the piano.

"It was a nameless original," he answers, reaching over and smoothly playing a riff of the song and wincing as the strings inside the thing don't give him the exact sounds he's aiming for.

"So you write," I remark.

"Yup. Have since I was six."

I allow my surprise to show on my face by raising my brows. "Six?"

He nods, smiling again. "Yeah. I learned to play when I was four...and I never stopped. In a way it's like the piano is part of me. I feel something missing when I haven't played in a while...and that's why I begged the nurses to let me in here." He taps a few more of the keys. "I wish I'd learned how to tune one, though," he sighs.

I hum in response for lack of anything to say, but he continues with a question.

"If you don't play, what brings you here?"

"I was wandering around and I followed the sound of your playing to shut it up," I articulate bluntly. He frowns a bit, his non-existent eyebrows furrowing.

"I thought you said you liked it." His voice takes on a defensive tone.

"It was fine," I say, "But again, it's out of tune." I myself tap one of the black keys.

"Hmm." He reaches over, taps the same key and smiles. I decide I like his smile; it lights up the room, and though I'm not fond of any kind of sentimental, cheesy bullshit, I have to internally admit that this kid is more interesting than most I've come across in this barren place. Everyone else is so bland, so boring. Waiting to die doesn't do much for a person, and being surrounded by diseased people all day long doesn't do much for any of the doctors or nurses constantly running around and catering to our every need, "to make us more comfortable during our stay here", so I was told the first day I was forced to move in.

I live in Sina Assisted Residence, an assisted living facility for the diseased whose families are either gone or have no means of taking care of us. Almost everyone here is terminal and waiting to die, like I said. Or waiting for a cure that would more than likely never come. Death is so thick in the air that one could breathe it in; it was surprising more people didn't perish daily from simply living here.

"So, Levi," Eren says, turning his bright greenish blue irises on me. "Do you have a lot of friends here?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"You seem like the kind of guy who might like to talk to people." He shrugs.

"Then you're obviously not very good at reading people," I mutter.

He chuckles. "Yeah, you're right."

"Do you?" I find myself inquiring.

"Nope. Not a single one. Sad, huh?"

I shrug. "Maybe for you, but I don't need friends. I'm just sitting around waiting to die just like everybody else. No sense in making friends only to lose them or die before them."

His frown returns; the corners of his mouth even sink a bit. "I like friends," he murmurs. "They're nice to have...even if we're sitting around waiting to die, like you say. Makes things not seem so lonely."

Lonely. Yes, I understand loneliness well. I understand how it feels to have been left alone by people you thought cared about you, and this is the reason I choose not to attach myself to people. But I won't tell him this. I won't show him this weakness. I won't show anyone this weakness.

"We could be friends," Eren says suddenly. "If you want, I mean."

I scrutinize him out of the corner of my eye, saying nothing. I don't think I want a friend. His body is evidently weaker than mine; I can tell from the few simple minutes we've been sitting here. He would indisputably be gone before me, rendering the whole idea of 'friendship' useless, a waste of time. So I say nothing, because for an unknown reason I don't want to disappoint this already fairly hopeless teenager.

"Can I make you a deal?" he offers.

"What deal?"

"I'll teach you how to play the piano, and you be my friend."

"Who even said I wanted to learn the piano?" I scoff, narrowing my gaze.

"True, but it's all I have to offer."

"Piano lessons for friendship is hardly fair."

"Hmm...you're right..." His fingers tap his thigh thoughtfully. "Well, I'll be your friend, too...if, you know, you'll allow it. But I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want a weak thing like me to be your friend." Again the smile returns; this time it's half hearted and minimally sad.

That smile breaks something in me, though. I can't place the reason why, but it reels me in. In some ways, I feel bad for this kid - probably dumped here by a family who can't take care of him and left alone without any friends or anyone to talk to but the constantly busy nurses and having to settle playing a half-broken piano, with a deadly disease that's sure to take his life sooner than later. All he's looking for is a friend, someone to make him feel more secure and a little less lonely when his time comes.

And thus, I find myself saying, "Alright. You have a deal."

His face lights up like a brilliant sunrise at those words and I almost get the sense he's refraining from throwing his arms around me. He holds out his hand again, and I allow another shake to finalize our deal.

"Awesome!" he enthuses. I just roll my eyes.

"Eren," a soft, feminine voice calls from the door. We look over to see a petite, blond-haired, blue-eyed nurse standing in the rectangle of the threshold. "Time's up, hon. You need to get back to your room."

Eren sighs. "Okay," he calls back. He turns his gaze back on me. "Wanna meet me here tomorrow? Same time?" I give in; his happiness is contagious. "Great. See you then, Levi." He reaches around the side of the piano and retrieves a cane - the kind elderly people use to help them walk - and pushes himself to his feet to hobble toward the nurse. I don't move, don't say anything, and watch him disappear through the door.

I remain there a while, gazing out the large window to my left at the small garden running across the back of the building. Some of the vines and things are beginning to grow up the wall, and because it's the peak of spring, the flowers are in full bloom creating an abundance of colors. Beyond the garden is a small lawn, and beyond that lies a road that very few cars use. This only serves to give the place a more secluded, middle-of-nowhere feel. And I detest it.

I think of Eren. He's a strange kid, I can admit that too easily. Opening up to total strangers and inviting them to sit next to him, then making a deal to teach them the piano in exchange for friendship. He's desperate, and I pity him. However, his eyes portray such a genuine spirit and a thirst for the world...such a big world he may never see. A world that I will likely never see, either.

I keep to myself around here; as much pointless time I've got on my hands, I don't care to associate with people much. I never have, even when it comes my brothers and sisters - the very people who dumped me on the doorstep of this godforsaken place two years ago and the people I haven't seen since. I've worked hard to build and keep up my facade - that I don't need anybody, don't want anybody, and it outwardly shows. And I want it to. It's kept people away from me so far, and I had no intention of changing that.

So I wonder what the hell I've just gotten myself into...


	2. -Day 2-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi goes back to the music room.

Though I can't pinpoint 100% why, I end up going back. To that music room. At the same time. To see the kid in the same spot as before, playing just as he did yesterday. The piano still sounds like shit and he still looks far too into it.

I saunter into the room and clear my throat to capture his attention. The music abruptly comes to a halt, his head snaps up, and his face immediately brightens like the sun at the sight of me. It's sickening.

"You came," he says happily.

"Well," I mutter, "you're more interesting than any of the other disease ridden assholes here. So."

He eagerly pats the bench next to him, that disgusting smile never so much as faltering. Still, I sit.

"I understand that," he says. "Most people here are so grumpy. But I guess you can't blame them, practically being on death row and all." He chuckles hoarsely like the death in the air as thick as oxygen is some kind of joke. If it is, it's a sick joke.

"So why the hell aren't you grumpy? You're technically on 'death row', too," I scoff, hunching my shoulders a bit.

Eren shrugs nonchalantly. "I don't like to be a downer. Might as well enjoy the little time I have left. And that's why I'm glad you came."

I give him a disbelieving look. The light in his eyes isn't just for show as is the malice in my own. He's completely genuine in his words but I can understand his viewpoint, though it differs greatly from mine. There's always talk about spending your last days positively, to live as full as you can, and clearly Eren stands by that. I myself, however, remain bitter. I can't stand the fact that I'd been burdened with this godforsaken disease against my will, can't stand that I have done nothing wrong and fated to die before I'm ever really allowed to live.

"So," Eren pipes up, drawing me from my thoughts. "Shall we get started?"

"Sure," I murmur.

"Okay. So, the way my piano teacher started me out was by telling me about the different parts of the instrument and what does what...but I don't think we'll have time for all that...so I'll just tell you what the keys and petals do, yeah?" I nod. He proceeds with an explanation of the keys, showing me how the notes work as you move across the keyboard and the difference between white and black keys. He demonstrates the difference in the tone, although it's more difficult to tell because of the currently tone-deaf strings. He explains the petals and a general explanation of how each one is used, followed by demonstration.

Strangely, I find myself following along and trying to memorize the things he tells me. The whole thing is a lot more complex than expected, but I still pay attention. Perhaps I'm simply humoring him or perhaps I'm genuinely interested. I don't particularly care either way; the way I see it, this is something to do until my inevitable demise.

"So I was wondering," Eren says once he's decided that's enough for the day. I merely lift a brow in his direction questioningly. "What's condemned you to the life of an assisted living patient?"

I should've expected that question to pop up sooner or later but I know there isn't any sense avoiding it.

"AIDS," I tell him quietly.

Unsurprisingly, his hairless brow lifts in bewilderment. I can only imagine the assumptions running through his mind in the moment, but I'm used to it. With the kind of disease I've bore for so long, those kinds of assumptions can't be helped. Of course Eren is no different. He surprises me with one thing, though - he doesn't apologize as fifty percent of people do, and he doesn't seem disgusted like the other fifty percent. Instead, he utters a question.

"What's that like?"

"You mean...what's it like to have to down a handful of pills every day just to function somewhat normally? Or what's it like for your immune system to be completely shot, waiting to simply come down with the common cold that'll be your cause of death because your body has no means of fighting it off? Just dandy," I drawl sarcastically.

Eren's pale lips tilt upward into the smallest yet saddest of smiles. His washed out green irises are filled with something I've been looked at with too many times in my life - sympathy.  
Wait, no. There's something deeper there. Understanding. Empathy.

"I know how that is," he says. "The whole immune system thing? But that's just the price you pay when you go through chemo for almost eight years." When he sees the look I'm giving him, he says hastily, "I'm not trying to make it seem like I have it worse. I'm just saying...I understand." He seems to shrink in on himself, for once dropping his eyes away from my face in insecurity. Pity fills my chest as I watch him, and I can't be mad for his words. I remember that all he wanted was a friend, and I know that having friends entails understanding, identifying, and helping someone not feel so alone. In his innocent existence, I know that's all he's trying to do.

"It's fine," I mumble. "So then cancer, huh?"

Eren perks back up a bit, nodding in confirmation. "As if you couldn't tell," he chuckles, gesturing at his shiny dome. "Started out as osteosarcoma and then spread. My bones are really weak, hence the cane." He tilts said cane just enough for me to see.

"And...you can't walk without that?" I ask, more out of curiosity than anything.

"Well, I can, but it isn't so easy and I'm really not supposed to." He shrugs. "Doctor's orders. You know."

I nod a bit. I do know, of course. Anyone breathing within this building has had to abide by doctor's orders more than probably their parent's orders. Either that, or they're the ones giving the orders.

"That must suck," I state bluntly. "I can't imagine being your age and having to walk around with a cane like a senior citizen."

I expect the kid to get offended, but he doesn't. Instead he lets out a hoarse chuckle, nodding in agreement; I can't help but stare at him like he's a lunatic, and I don't bother hiding this.

"Yeah, it definitely does suck. I remember when I was sixteen and they told me I had to use it. I think I pretty much said the same thing 'cause what sixteen year old wants to go to school relying on a walking stick?"

"That must've been a magnet for teasing."

"A little," he admits, his feet absentmindedly playing with the petals of the piano while he speaks. "But when people learned why I needed it, they started being all gross and sympathetic."

"Sounds like you didn't enjoy that very much."

"Hell no, I didn't," he mutters. I'm in awe of how quickly his mood seems to change right along with the conversation. Seconds ago he was laughing and now his sickly features are plastered with a scowl. "I hate it when people look at me with pity." His words are grumbled in the same way a child might say them. "It's like they think their sympathy and shit will make me feel better or something. It gets tiring after ten years having to tell people the same crap over and over again like some stupid broken record." His foot, covered by a cream-colored wool slipper, scuffs the carpeted floor and he sighs, voice dropping. "I know I'm doomed. I know there's no way out. So I wish people would stop constantly telling me how sorry they are."

I'm admittedly taken a bit aback by his words and sudden irritated demeanor. I haven't known him long at all, but part of my initial impression was that he's easygoing and fairly laid back. I hadn't expected him to be capable of such an irritated attitude. Then again, every terminally diseased person I've ever met has had some resentment toward the world in one way or another. This is a rule I've yet to find any exception to. It was only a matter of time before his surfaced, anyway, and I figure it's better sooner than later.

"Saying sorry can't cure you from being on death's door," I find myself saying. It's my way of telling him I can identify without actually saying so.

"Exactly."

Tension mixed with mild uneasiness settles over; Eren continues to swing his legs back and forth, the soles of his slippers brushing over the fine beige carpet to produce a shuffling sound. I hate the otherwise silence. I feel I'm wasting my time sitting there watch him fidget when I could be in my room reading or ignoring the world.

Again I wonder why I've elected to show up, what inside of me has decided this cancer ridden kid is worth my time. Yes, he wants a friend and I pity him, but I still can't fathom what inside of me is drawn to him. I don't have time to mull it over any further because he's speaking again.

"Crap. I kinda killed the mood, didn't I?" He sends me a rueful grin. I shrug it off. "Here, how 'bout a quiz?" He gestures to the instrument we sit in front of and chuckles at the narrowing of my eyes at the word 'quiz'. "No worries, I won't grade you or anything."

"Is it multiple choice?" I ask jokingly, earning another laugh. For some reason, the sound causes some sort of reaction in me, almost like the sun attempting to break out from behind the clouds after a rainstorm. Attempting being the key word; it's there nonetheless.

"If you want it to be," he responds. I pretend to be indifferent and articulate a smooth "whatever". Still smiling, his little quiz commences. He asks the difference between the white keys and black keys, what each petal does, et cetera, until he's gone through everything he went over before. The only time he gives me options is when I struggle to remember the answer.

"Okay, here's the kicker," he says, his seafoam eyes shining with a hint of mischief. I raise a brow. "How many keys are there in total?"

I stare at him blankly for a moment, wondering if he's serious. Of course, he isn't completely, but after a moment of silence without him saying he's joking or laughing, it's obvious he wants me to answer.

"Forty-two," I mutter sarcastically.

"Aw, c'mon, Levi, you had a perfect score!"

"You said you weren't gonna grade me," I accuse, scowling.

"I wasn't if you got anything less than an A+."

"So then I suppose you won't anymore, seeing as I got the last question wrong."

Eren elbows me gently, playfully. "You know the answer, dork. It's almost common knowledge that a piano has 88 keys." As soon as the words are out of his mouth, his eyes widen and his hand comes up to his pale lips. "Shit."

"Good going, idiot," I joke, allowing the amusement to show just enough for him to know it is, indeed, a joke.

"Okay, okay, you get a perfect score 'cause I'm dumb." He chortles and scratches his hairless head. "My bad."

I merely shake my head. As if on cue, the same nurse from the day before appears in the doorway, calling Eren's name and telling him his time is up. The kid sighs in obvious disappointment and mild annoyance. "I never get enough time in here," he mumbles grumpily as he reaches for his cane. "See you tomorrow?" he asks me hopefully.

"I suppose," I say. Just as the day before, his features brighten into a lustrous smile.

"Cool. Later."

I articulate my farewell as I watch him saunter toward the nurse, who gives me a halfhearted, almost absent smile of her own before turning and following him from the room. When they're gone, I study the instrument in front of me. It doesn't intrigue me the way it seems to Eren, though nothing does - nor has it ever. Who knows if I'll live long enough to learn to appreciate it, or anything else?

Eventually I, too, stand and exit the music room. With my hands nestled in the warm confines of my hoodie pocket, I shuffle back to my room, consisting of little more than essential furniture - a bed, bedside table, dresser, a chair, and a bookshelf. The shelf wasn't originally there; I'd had the TV replaced with it within a week of moving in. I've always much preferred reading to television.

I move sluggishly into the room, lazily kicking the door shut with my foot before flopping onto my bed with the sounds of the broken piano playing in my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think~ :)


	3. -Day 3-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren & Levi have lunch together.

As I slide my blue tray along the granite countertop, waiting in line just like everyone else as if we're in elementary school, the gray-haired woman behind it doesn't speak to me as she serves up breakfast. No one does, even as they're chattering away amongst each other - with themselves, with the people behind the counter, with the meal assistants helping out those who can't even get food on their own. And I'm okay with this.

The gray-haired woman - her name is Lillith - was by far the most persistent in attempting to get me to be social than anyone, even the nurses. She'd greet me in a friendly way every morning as I did just this, sliding my tray along as I'm served fairly mediocre food, asking me how I am and what my plans for the day were. Of course, she does this with everyone, but I had always ignored her, even sent her dirty looks so she'd stop talking to me. After three or so months, she finally gave up.

As much as the nurses hate it and still (on occasion) attempt to convince me to make friends or at least an acquaintance, the only social interaction I've had in the past two years has been between myself and the nurses or an occasional phone call from one of my siblings, and those are rarer than a woman giving birth to quadruplets.

But of course I am reminded that this has suddenly changed when I hear a hoarse yet enthusiastic voice calling my name from across the cafeteria. I'm already seated in my usual spot - at the table furthest away from the food buffet, in the corner near the wall of windows looking out at part of the garden. I look up to find none other than Eren, that disgustingly genuine grin spread out on his pale face reserved only for me as he saunters in my direction, his cane in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. He's followed by one of the meal assistants, carrying a tray full of food for him. I stifle my sigh and do little more to regard his presence than lift my brows with the subtlest of nods.

"Can I sit?" he asks, already placing his glass of juice on the table.

"Sure," I mumble before I can stop myself or even think of telling him I'd rather be alone. Though, as he does sink into the seat across from me, I realize this is just my habitual thought process and that I, a bit unsettlingly, don't mind as much as he settles in to eat with me.

"So," he huffs once the meal assistant has scurried back in the direction of the food counter, "how's life?"

I lift my brows and scrutinize him. "Do you mean that ironically?" I ask.

He chuckles as he dips into his eggs. "Oh, right. You're a pessimist." He shovels a fork full of food into his mouth and I scowl in disgust; he picks up on this right away and grins even wider (with his lips closed, to my fortune).

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and pick away at my own food - particularly the fruit - and we eat in silence for a moment. It's expected to be awkward, but somehow with the background noise of other patients bustling around - silverware clanking against plates, idle conversation my ears pick up bits and pieces of, feet shuffling along carpet and a cough here and there - it isn't. Eren gazes out the window admiringly, his seafoam eyes drinking in the sight of the garden that I am all too used to and have been unimpressed by for months. His youthful gaze, of course, is filled with wonder, fascination, curiosity at the plethora of plants and flowers.

"Do you ever go out there?" he asks me, not removing his gaze from the window and gesturing to the window with his fork.

"Not really."

"Have you ever been out there?"

"Once or twice when I first moved in, yes. It's peaceful."

"So why don't you go anymore?"

I can't think of a good answer and simply shrug. I haven't been for at least two entire seasons. When autumn comes around, the garden, like anything else, fades into dormancy and the cold is too bitter to stand for too long, and of course winter is even worse. Now that spring is upon us, the plants are making their reappearance or being replaced by the few gardeners keeping up with it. I hadn't had any mind or desire to venture back out there, especially when it's required to be under supervision.

"Does...your illness prevent it?" Eren finally fixes his gaze on me again and I feel the weight of his question all too easily. His voice had softened and I know he means nothing vile by it, but it affects me nonetheless. "Because...you could get sick," he continues, reasoning.

"No. I could get sick just from sitting here," I say. "Or from eating this food. Simply breathing is a risk." I shrug, pretending to be indifferent even though internally, I am not.

Though his face falls, he nods. "I understand." He nibbles at his toast, a swirl of strawberry jam on the top. "So then how long have you lived here?"

"Just under two years," I tell him, the memory of the day I moved in this month two years prior flashing fleetingly in my head.

Eren's clearly surprised, judging by the fractional widening of his eyes and his rosy lips popping open a bit. "That long?" he whispers.

"Yeah. What about you?"

"I just got here last week..." He says it like the same kind of memory flickers in his mind. He swallows hard and takes a sip of orange juice like he's trying really hard not to think about something.

"That explains why I've never seen you before," I say before taking a sip of my own beverage - cinnamon honey tea in the only mug I'd managed to smuggle in. It wasn't my favorite with its hand-painted golden swirls encircling it with flecks of silver here and there. My favorite was a little bigger, and instead bore the design of a sunset, but had, unfortunately, slipped past my hysterically shaky fingers in my attempt to pack it and shattered as if it were some kind of metaphor for my life. Typical.

"Yeah. It took forever for the hospital to transfer all my paperwork over here, and for a while I was on room arrest while they figured out exactly what I need and all that. Not that it matters much." At this point Eren is doing very little eating and is instead pushing the remnants of his meal around the plate, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched a bit.

"What do you mean?" I murmur, finding myself leaning toward him and something foreign bubbling up in my stomach - concern.

That sad, almost defeated smile from yesterday returns to his features. "Well, you know. Terminally ill and stuff, just like everybody else. I only found out a couple days before moving in that I have no chance of beating this." A shrug. "But I knew that a long time ago. I guess actually hearing it just makes it more official."

These words cause my chest to tighten almost painfully, but it feels so fruitless, hopeless, pointless. I already know there isn't any hope for him or anyone sitting in this very room right now, but as he said, hearing it makes it seem more official, more irreversible. Many people such as us go through life denying our inevitable, premature demise and try to live as best they can, though never without that little gremlin in the back of their heads constantly reminding them they're on borrowed time and soon, very soon, they'll be giving it back.

I don't know why, but sitting across from this defeated kid who's even younger than I am, something akin to melancholy floating around the edges of his irises as he admits this to me, makes me feel obligated. To be the friend he wanted. To let him teach me something I still lack interest in. To put a smile on his face as long as I can before his time comes. With what little power I have, I decide I have nothing to lose.

"Anyway," Eren says, shaking himself. "Now it's your turn."

"What? My turn? For what?" I'm a bit disoriented being dragged out of my thoughts like that.

"I told you something about me, so you have to do the same." I narrow my gaze involuntarily. "C'mon, it's only fair. It's how friendship works."

"I still never said I wanted a friend," I grumble, outwardly contradicting my own thoughts as I set my teacup down with a little more force than necessary. The hurt in on Eren's face is so genuine and instantaneous I immediately go back on this. "Alright. What do you wanna know?"

"How long have you been living with AIDS?" he inquires, and I sigh internally. I should've known his question would be along those lines.

"My entire life," I say bluntly yet softly.

Eren leans forward in sudden bewilderment. "Huh?" he utters stupidly.

"I contracted it from my mother," I explain, straightening my back in an almost defensive manner, but I don't know why. "She passed it down through childbirth."

"Oh." He blinks. "Damn."

"Surprised to find out it isn't in the way you thought?"

"Well, no..."

"It's okay. I don't blame you if you assumed I'm some sort of druggie or sex fiend. You wouldn't be the first. I'm used to it."

And I am. I can't count how many times I've seen the look of disgust in someone's eyes when they find out what's wrong with me, and like Eren's hatred for people constantly telling him how sorry they are, I hate it. It's part of the reason I prefer to keep to myself, as to not deal with wild assumptions because I'm a rare case. The majority of people with HIV/AIDS, of course, contract it from dirty drug needles or through sex; throughout all of those disgusting support groups I was forced to sit through, I am the only one I know who contracted it the way I did. Fucking figures.

"Sucks, huh?" he says.

"I would say like you wouldn't believe, but I get the feeling you have a pretty good idea."

He nods ruefully. "But I wish I didn't."

"Me too."

Neither of us apologize to the other despite it being the norm, being expected. I remember his words from yesterday, and I'm sure he remembers mine. And even if we didn't detest people giving us their condolences, no matter how genuine and heartfelt they may be, we still wouldn't say those two measly, powerless little words. I'm sorry. Sorry doesn't fix AIDS or cancer or any other disease running around, wreaking havoc on a poor body without a fighting chance in this residence. This is mutual between Eren and I, and I like it this way. I like the way we're open about it, knowing what we're going through sucks and is unfair. And maybe, just maybe, we can go through it together.

"Anyway," he says, and I'm noting his habit of using this word, "We should go out in the garden sometime. Together. Yeah?" He looks at me hopefully, and for what seems like the umpteenth time in the past three days, I give in.

"Yeah. Alright."

Right on cue, that bright smile returns. He bares his teeth and his eyes wrinkle at the corners with hope. In some ways, it lights up my dingy little world. In others, it pains me.

"You don't smile much, huh? Or really show any emotion on your face." Eren's observing me closely now, leaning closer with a narrower, analytical gaze. I shrink back reflexively.

"I don't know," I grumble.

He chuckles. "That's okay. Anyway, are you done? We should go back to the music room."

I merely nod and stand after downing the rest of my tea - just in time, too, because it's on the cooler side and I dislike tea any temperature less than almost searing. Eren stands, too, and begins to fumble with his cane, tray, and empty orange juice glass.

"Here," I offer, taking the tray so he only has to deal with the glass.

The rueful smile is back. "Thanks."

I shrug nonchalantly and we head toward the dishwashing area. I stack the trays, he leaves his glass, and we depart the cafeteria. Halfway down the hall, we run into Eren's nurse who proclaims she was just coming to get him and then grants him permission for an hour in the music room. As we're on our way there, his slippers shuffling against the carpet next to my own soundless footsteps, he suddenly stops.

"Wait. Are you supposed to get permission, too?"

I shake my head. "I'm free to do pretty much whatever...within reason."

He sighs. "I envy you for that."

We spend that next hour - one seemingly longer than a normal hour - on the piano bench. Talking. Playing. Him teaching, me learning. And by the time he's called away, I've found I enjoy Eren's presence much more than I enjoy solitude.

Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! ♥ Let me know what you think :)


	4. -Day 4-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren plays a song for Levi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r72VMMapQTM&list=PLEFua4JSxdHRz4VYndim6VKJdcBPNBhls&index=2) is a great cover of the song Eren plays in this chapter. Enjoy~!

The next morning starts out much like the first two - Eren sitting at the piano bench with myself joining him not long after he'd arrived. This time, however, he's gazing out the window rather than playing the piano. I make it a point to shuffle my feet so he hears me coming. He turns and I expect that thousand watt smile but am instead greeted by one just barely halfhearted on a tired face.

"Hey," I say.

"Morning," he murmurs and pats the seat next to him. When I sit is when his eyes finally light up, but it's still lackluster. I try not to let it get to me, the knowledge of why he's this way. I don't deny it, either. "Guess what?"

"Hmm?"

Instead of giving a verbal response, he reaches over to the keyboard, pauses for a second, and then his slender fingers are dancing gracefully over the keys. Naturally, I brace myself for the rickety, out of tune and off key notes I'd familiarized myself with in the past few days, but as Eren's expert fingers tap fluidly, I find there's no need. Finally the baby grand sounds like a normal piano with its strings properly stretched just right to give it its rightful sound. And, of course, as the hammers inside strike the strings, the music filling the air is melodious and practiced. I'm suddenly immersed in a whirlwind of notes and chords, the sounds filling my ears so much better than I imagined had Eren been granted a tuned piano to play. He's nothing short of amazing in his playing, his feet using the petals as his fingers strike the keys to produce a sound that reminds me of a spring rainstorm.

"They had it tuned," he states as his playing comes to an abrupt halt in the middle of the song. "So we can play for real now." His lips twitch into a smile as his eyes land on me. My stomach churns a bit - his smile is such a genuine, beautiful feat on such a sickly, tired face it makes my heart hurt. I feel this, but I don't let it show.

"Play me something, then," I say.

"What? Really?"

"Yes, really. I want to hear what you can really do."

And suddenly he's beaming. "You mean...other than...?" He gestures at the keys, indicating what he just played. I nod. I want to hear him play; I want to see the blissful face I first laid eyes on when I met him. I give him the best (although forced) encouraging half-smile I can muster. This seems to cause him to forget how tired and uncomfortable he must be from his illness. "Okay!" he enthuses. He turns his attention back to the piano, pondering a minute before he hums lightly and poises his fingers among the keys again. "Ready?"

I roll my eyes. "Just play, Eren," I mutter.

He chuckles before a moment of silence, and then his fingers are playing again. At first he doesn't seem as into it as he was before while he plays out the first riffs of whatever song it is. I don't recognize the tune, but I know it's not the same as the one I walked in on him playing three days ago despite the piano sounding normal. This one has a different feel to it; it's a little more on the lighter side but has an all new kind of heaviness to it that I can't particularly place. The words heartbreak and bittersweet come to mind.

Eren does get into it, though, and even more so than the first time. His eyes close as the notes carry harmoniously through the air and ever so slowly, he begins to lean with the notes. Although I still find it annoying, the fresh sound and knowing him makes a world of difference. He seems to feel the notes, not just play them. He doesn't lean much, isn't acting like the piano is part of himself, but the state of bliss remains. I find it difficult to decide where to watch. His hands? His face? Should I close my eyes, too? I never make the decision. I'm focused more on the sound and this strange thing bubbling up in my stomach, climbing up and nestling itself in my chest. I don't know what it is, but I know it's for Eren, because of Eren.

I should run. I know I should run. I should high-tail it out of here right now and never return. I should forget the past three days, forget this room and forget the boy who's suddenly tugging at my dusty, neglected heartstrings. I want to help him, I want him to be happy, I want to be the friend he wants, or may even need. But this is a new kind of torture outside of the illness I've dealt with for twenty-two years, a new flavor I've been oblivious to my whole life. And it's sweet. Too sweet. Sweets cause cavities. This can only end in pain.

"Levi, are you okay?"

I'm suddenly snapped back from my whirlwind of thoughts by Eren's voice. He's stopped playing, but he hasn't finished the song. I blink at him for a moment, trying to gravitate myself.

"I'm fine. Finish."

"Are you sure? You...look kind of pale..."

"I'm always pale. Finish," I repeat, nodding at the keys.

"Okay..." His voice is nothing more than a murmur as he gives me one last concerned glance and begins to play again. There isn't much of the song left, and it ends simply with the main melody and one final chord. My being reacts to that chord and I have to swallow hard around that bittersweet feeling from my chest, ascending its way to my throat.

"What did you think?" he asks.

"You don't need my opinion."

"I want it, though."

"I can tell you've been playing for a long time," I say. It's all I can muster.

Eren laughs softly. "Yeah? I'll take that as a compliment and assume you liked it."

"What song was that, anyway?"

"Let Her Go by Passenger. It's always been one of my mom's favorites, so I learned to play it for her."

"Your mom..." I murmur. He nods. "What's she like?" I find myself inquiring.

"She's the best," he explains fondly. "She always wants what's best, of course, but she hates that I have to live here."

"But she can't take care of you herself, can she?"

Eren shakes his head. He fidgets with the end of his olive-colored sweater, crossing his ankles. "No. She wishes she could, but when she has five other kids to take care of..."

"Five?" I don't bother to hide my surprise.

"Yeah, all foster kids. On top of all of them, she doesn't have any means of taking care of another who's already doomed." He shrugs. "I'm the one who decided to live here...for her. I didn't want her to have to worry about shuffling me in along with all my younger foster siblings. She's already had to deal with so much because of me."

"You seem to really love her," I comment softly.

"Definitely. I just wish I could be stronger so I don't have to let her down like this. She's already cried so much for me. I hate causing her pain."

I can only hum in acknowledgement. There's not a thing I can say to console him, as much as I somehow wish there was. And I won't apologize, because again, that doesn't fix a damn thing. Instead I ask a question.

"What about your dad?"

For a moment, Eren seems confused before he lets out a dry chuckle. "Him? I haven't seen him for like fifteen years. He just up and left one day, or so my mom tells me. I barely remember him."

"Damn."

"Yep. So, your turn." He grins almost cockily, nudging me with his elbow.

I huff. "I thought my family story was pretty obvious," I scoff.

"Hardly. You just told me how you got your disease. That hardly tells me anything."

"Well I don't have parents. I'm the product of what I guess you would call a 'fling'. My parents were only together for about a week, and I don't think they were ever...together, if you know what I mean. My father had AIDS, didn't tell my mother, and she got it and passed it to me, and then passed away of the common cold when I was eleven." I shrug in much the same way as he had, like I'm nonchalant or indifferent to my shitty family story when I'm actually quite the opposite.

"Wow," Eren breathes, wide-eyed. "Do you have any siblings, or...?"

"Yeah. I have an older brother and an older sister. Some cousins, too. So I'm not totally alone."

"And they can't take care of you." It's clearly not a question, but I nod in response. I'd been shuffled around between family members essentially my whole life and even more so after my mother passed away. Eventually they all ceased having the means to take care of me and I could never find a job to support myself. Thus, I'm condemned to this dingy place.

"Guess that's the life of a diseased person, huh?" he chuckles. Seems he's got a dark sense of humor, something we seem to have in common. "Anyway, wanna practice? I could teach you some scales."

"Alright."

As his fingers move up and down the piano with these simple scales, they still somehow hold their grace. His hands are meant to be on the piano and are so familiar with it it's as if they were specifically shaped to play. Mine, however, are quite the opposite. Eren can use all five fingers on a hand to complete a scale whereas I'm messily using two or three on each to figure out how it feels. The notes come out slower, more choppily and it sounds more like a child tapping away randomly than a grown man learning to play.

Eren is very patient, though, and praises me when he thinks I've done a good job. It's mildly embarrassing, being less than an amateur learning from someone who's an expert. I'm sure that's how it always goes and I chug along nonetheless, finding myself thinking that if Eren wasn't indeed doomed, he'd make a great teacher. Or professional. He has so much potential with this, and it's wasted. I just keep finding more and more reasons to resent the world.

I'd normally find his praise annoying, as if he's speaking to a child rather than someone who's older than him. Even so, he isn't the easiest person to get mad at, even for me. I'd already concluded I'll humor him, so I put up with the occasional 'good job' and 'nice' he gushes once I've gotten a scale right, even if it sounds like shit.

"You're a quick learner," he proclaims.

"You're just saying that," I mutter. "That's what all teachers say."

"You are!" he counters. "We've already gone through three scales. It took me two weeks to even get one down."

I stare at him blankly. "You were four."

Eren grins sheepishly, reaches back to rub his neck. "True." His chuckles turn into mild coughs and he buries his face in his sleeve like he's mindful of not spreading his germs. As a person with a shot immune system, I appreciate this.

"That's my cue," he sighs, his eyes focusing on something behind me. I turn to find the blonde nurse standing in the doorway, he hands folded in front of her. She smiles ruefully when she sees him pushing himself to his feet using his cane.

"Tomorrow," he says, "you should meet me in my room, okay? Room 104. We can come back together." When I murmur my agreement, he says his farewell and starts toward the door. Almost as soon as he's walking, though, he seems to lose his balance and stumbles, his legs nearly buckling underneath him. Reflexively, I reach out to catch him. His free hand catches my arm while the other is still gripping his cane and he manages to stay upright after breathing a soft 'whoa...' I can't help but notice how weak his grip is around my arm and how much effort it takes for him to stand up straight. The nurse, of course, has rushed to his side and lends her assistance.

"You okay?" I ask, peering up at him.

"Yeah. Weak legs." He chuckles, but the amusement isn't all there. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"See you tomorrow."

"Mhm."

I watch him leave, hobbling with his cane on one side and the nurse on the other. Even as he disappears from sight, I can feel that churning within me and work to bury it, trying (hopelessly?) not to let myself become attached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and let me know what you think! ♥


	5. -Day 5-

Eren is like the sun; he possesses a strong gravitational pull I'm hopelessly drawn to. Maybe it's just me, or maybe it's this way for everyone. Either way, I show up to his room the next morning as asked. The door, marked with golden numbers 104, is open. I ghost in the doorway, peering in. I can see his room is the same as mine, but flipped, and he hasn't had the television replaced with a bookshelf. It's on and tuned to Spongebob. I roll my eyes.

Eren, of course, resides inside. He's lying on his back on the bed with two people hovering over him - one is the blonde nurse and the other is an unfamiliar male. He lacks a shirt and the male, who I can only assume is a doctor, is using a stethoscope. Eren's eyes are closed; he takes long, deep, visible breaths as the man murmurs things to him. Eventually, the stethoscope is put down and the man probes around his stomach, his ribs, et cetera. Eren lies impeccably still for this.

I remain in the doorway watching in spite of my mind telling me to turn and wait somewhere in the hallway. Something's caught in my throat at the sight of the half-naked, hairless, pale, skinny boy being checked up on. He's bad. It takes but one look to see this. He's been hiding so much from me behind his bright eyes and wide smile. I despise how much I've let it fool me and feel stupid for just that.

Of course he's bad, you idiot, I scold myself, He has terminal cancer.

I hear Eren whimper a bit past the thermometer beneath his tongue as the man's fingers make contact with a sensitive area in his side. The man makes a comment about a tender spot and moves on. Eventually the thermometer is removed from his mouth, the nurse records the numbers on a clipboard, and they leave him with his own kind of handful of pills and a bottle of water before they pack up. As he downs the medication, he doesn't see me, but when he's pulling a shirt over his head and the others turn to leave is when he spots me. Immediately, he brightens up.

"Levi!" he says in a voice scratchier than usual.

I open my mouth to apologize, but the man sends me a friendly smile and does so himself. They don't seem to mind that I've been standing there and brush past me, the nurse smiling and nodding in confirmation as she goes.

"Come in," Eren says all too happily, waving me in his direction. My hands are fists at my sides as I allow myself a few steps into the room.

"What...was...that...?" The words are uttered choppier than I intended; I immediately slap myself internally for it.

"Check up," he answers casually. "They were done a little later than expected."

"Are you okay?" I mumble. For some reason, I can't meet his eyes as I know it's a ridiculous question.

"As okay as one with terminal cancer can get, I suppose." Much like in the music room, he pats the vacant space on the bed next to him. "Take a seat." I do, although gingerly. He bumps me playfully with his shoulder. "Stop looking so freaked out." He grins.

I shake myself. "So what were they looking for?"

"Eh, usual stuff. Changes or whatever. Asked me if I'm in any kind of different pain or if anything else has changed. Stuff like that, so they can 'make me as comfortable as possible'." He air-quotes the words with a roll of his eyes. "Don't you ever get checked up on?"

"Yes. Just...never so...intimately."

The kid chuckles and the strangest kind of warmth radiates from the sound. Seems everything this kid does is melodious in some way.

Looking for a subject change, I direct my attention to the television that's still playing an episode of Spongebob, though not being familiar with it, I have no idea what's going on. Whatever it is, it looks ridiculous and childish.

"You actually watch this crap?" I ask Eren.

He snorts something of a laugh. "Sorta. I guess it's a habit, having five younger siblings and all. I can change it, if you'd like..." He reaches for the remote and opens up a menu displaying different channels. He begins scrolling through them. "What do you like?"

"Nothing," I tell him, "I don't watch TV."

The remote nearly slips from Eren's weak grip and his jaw literally drops as he stares at me with evident shock. "Seriously? You don't watch TV? Who doesn't watch TV?"

"Me, obviously."

His disbelief lingers for a long moment before his jaw finally snaps shut once more and he shakes his head. "You're..."

"I'm what?" I scoff, cocking a brow almost beckoningly, almost daring him to finish that sentence. Eren settles for 'different', but by the softening of his green irises I know he intends nothing bad by it and I decide not to question him further by what he means despite my nagging curiosity. I don't much care what he - or anyone else for that matter - thinks of me, but Eren's face displays his thoughts fairly easily, although modestly, and I don't need his words to know he likes me. It's yet another mutual thing between us, and I'm okay with this.

"Well then," he begins, jabbing his thumb into the red power button. The TV goes dark and he replaces the remote on the table before wrapping his skinny fingers around the handle of his cane. "Shall we go?"

I nod and we stand. Eren makes a last minute stop in his bathroom before we're wandering down the hall, past an abundance of identical doors with decreasing numbers, past the lobby and front doors, and into the music room. As usual, it's void of anyone but us and Eren happily shuffles his slippers along the carpet to the baby grand, past all the other dusty, likely untuned instruments and the vacant fireplace. He sits, and I gingerly take my place next to him as he hides his cane around the side of the piano.

"Wait," I say suddenly, interrupting whatever he's opened his mouth to articulate. "I thought you were supposed to ask permission to come here."

"I did," he responds, smiling. "Before you showed up to my room."

"Alright," I huff. "Then play me another song."

Sparks of delight practically fly from Eren's eyes like a firework. "I'd love to. But first I want you to play me two scales."

"Seriously?" I grumble, irritated at how condescendingly he speaks to me as if I'm a child he's trying to teach. When he laughs I realize my response sounded that childish.

"Yep, seriously. You won't get better if you don't practice them, and anyone who's learned to play at the hands of a teacher had to do them."

"Nice way to justify it," I mutter. He simply waits; he turns out to be much more stubborn than I and after maybe two minutes of silence, I reach up and play a choppy A-Minor scale for him. He isn't satisfied, though, and is far from giving up, so I play E-Minor as well, but screw it up and end up having to start over several times. As a result of this, Eren makes me play it until I can get it right three times in a row without having to stop or start over. Turns out I'm bad at remembering the black keys. Go figure.

"Don't practice until you get it right," he remarks as if he's some kind of annoying professor, "Practice until you can't get it wrong."

This time, I'm the one to nudge him. "Shut up," I grumble. He chuckles and nudges back, weakly yet playfully.

"Words from the wise," he says.

My brows lift. "You? Wise? I don't see it," I tease, earning yet another playful bump.

"Be quiet," he grumbles, "I never said I'm the wise."

"Oh? Then who is?"

"My piano teacher, of course. And you should listen. It's good advice."

"Hmph."

For seemingly the first time in my life, I feel something bubbled up in my stomach - something pleasant, giving me the strangest urges to smile or even laugh as Eren and I sit teasing each other like idiots. It feels natural. Real. Somehow, I want more. I want to be able to sit there for as long as I'm allowed, watching him play and listening to his scratchy voice tell me about his family or his life aside from his cancer. I even want to let him teach me more if it means staying there.

And it terrifies me.

"So you promised me a song," I say.

"Hm, alright. I guess you've earned it."

I roll my eyes. "Just play."

Without any hesitation, Eren poises his fingers expertly over the keys. He doesn't even seem to have to think before he begins playing. The tune starts of slow, one or two notes at a time for several measures between both hands. Though more notes swim their way in, the piece never really speeds up. It's soothing, almost reassuring. I don't recognize it, nor do I have any inkling as to what it might be, so I assume it's original. Uncomplex yet beautiful and impeccably unique. Again I'm reminded how flawlessly his fingers fit the keys, how much they seem to have been made especially to play such a grand instrument.

I take a glance at his face to find it serene, bearing one of the most bittersweet smiles as his eyes are closed. The soft, pale skin of his cheeks are dusted with the faintest of blushes. It's such a beautiful sight I have to look away, internally burying my suddenly seemingly ravenous emotions. They've gone from calm, sleeping, indifferent cubs to wild tigers, rattling at the cage around them and growling threateningly, trying their damndest to escape. I lock them up tighter, as tight and secure as I possibly can as Eren's song draws to a close.

The moment following is silent; there isn't so much as a whisper or breath in the room or between us. My hands shake in tight fists, hidden away in my pocket. Part of me doesn't want to disrupt the quiet, where it seems time itself has stopped as if it were listening to Eren's playing. Another part is screaming, begging for a break in the ringing of my ears.

"A...lullaby?" I whisper.

Eren's eyes peek open fractionally and he nods. "For my siblings. Particularly the youngest ones."

His siblings. Of course. They're close, evidently, if he's written a lullaby for them. I wonder how they're handling being without their brother, even if they aren't directly related, wonder how young they all are, what their names are and how long they've been with Eren's family, and why. I wonder why his mother elected to be a foster mother and how she's managed to handle them all on her own, on top of her cancer-ridden son. I don't ask these things, however, because I know it isn't my place or business. I can only hope Eren offers up the information, and simply wait to see if he does.

"What if I wrote something for you?" Eren asks suddenly.

"Wh-what?" I mumble.

"Would you like that?" he asks.

I search his green gaze, wondering momentarily if he's serious, if he truly wants to do this for me. I don't have to look long; he's sincere as ever.

"I...guess so," I say, still attempting to seem outwardly indifferent whereas on the inside I'm practically jumping with joy. Way inside.

"Okay. Then I will," he promises.

I nod. "Play something else."

"You really want me to?"

"Yes. You don't actually suck."

That earns another laugh. "Thanks?" He's still grinning as he goes back to the keys and begins playing again.

We spend the remainder of our time in the music room this way - him playing, me listening much more intently than I ever would've to anyone else, or ever thought I would before in general. I'm content there, listening to the sounds he produces, all the while holding my wild tigers in check as best I possibly can. It's almost like a game to test my limits, but I don't care. I will savor the time and the music until time is up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is highly encouraged :)
> 
> Also, I have another fic I'm debating adding to Archive. (It's already on Wattpad.) If anyone's interested, let me know...? I can post the description here or in the comments if anyone is...so, yeah.


	6. -Day 6-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren and Levi visit the garden.

The next morning, Eren and I venture out into the garden, per his request. Because we're together and his nurse deemed me capable of keeping an eye out for him, we aren't shadowed by her. The only other people around are a few gardeners, and they keep to themselves. Though, we were warned they'd have a few eyes on us via the security cameras and a few people close by as a precaution. I find it annoying, but because of Eren's (already worsening) condition, I can't blame them.

I, myself, haven't gotten any better upon my, or even Eren's arrival, of course, and today I'm a lot more tired than I've been in the past week since meeting him. I only managed to capture about three hours of sleep the previous night, but that isn't uncommon with my disease. I keep quiet about it, though, for Eren's sake more than anyone else's; he doesn't need to be worrying about anything more.

As we step out into the fresh spring air, he's required to wear a beanie to protect his scalp and long sleeves to conceal his arms so his sensitive skin doesn't burn. When he tells me the hat was knitted especially for him by his grandmother, I force myself to bite back sarcastic comments.

"Wow," he breathes as the door slides quietly shut in our wake. "It feels like it's been forever since I've been outside."

"Me too," I murmur.

"But you're not really an outdoors type of person, are you?" Again with the grin. I shrug. "Let's walk," he says, starting forward.

I remain on his left, his cane is gripped in his right hand clicking faintly against the sidewalk as we saunter slowly down the path. There is an abundance of plants and flowers - from bright, colorful roses to carnations and lilies, sunflowers, lilac, lavender, tulips, hydrangea, and columbine. Many others I can't even name, but it's colorful. Fragrant. Peaceful. The plants stretch almost all the way around the building, up many of the walls and climbing the fences bordering the property line. The ground is littered with bushes and a few trees, some still budding and others already filled with leaves, saplings in between here and there. The sun shines down and the breeze brushes through, causing the shadows of the plants and trees to dance across the ground, on each other, on us. Save for leaves playing against each other and our footsteps, there isn't much sound to speak of.

The little stone path we follow weaves through the garden, allowing for a good look at all the different kinds of life being nurtured. Bees hover around flowers to collect their pollen alongside a few butterflies here and there. Some birds have perched themselves among the trees, but are silent themselves as if enjoying the peace and quiet as we are.

Eventually, we round a corner and pick up the bubbling of a fountain. It's nestled among the shrubbery, fairly tall portraying a sculpted dolphin mid-jump, the water being produced from its mouth.

Much like myself, Eren seems totally enraptured by our surroundings. His eyes, nearly blending in with the greenery around us, are wide and wonder-filled. He smiles, of course, as he takes it all in, sweeping his gaze back and forth like he's trying to capture every detail, remember everything he sees. He hasn't stumbled or claimed dizziness as of yet, nor has he complained about being tired on our little journey, and whether or not he truly is, for once, is difficult to decipher. Still, I'm aware of the cameras attached to the building, aware of eyes on us, and more than prepared to help if he needs it.

"I can't believe nobody really comes out here," he says, voice mirroring his awe.

"They do," I correct, "when they can."

Eren nods slowly. "I guess that makes sense."

We walk a little farther until we've come to, essentially, the end of the garden, wherein a white gazebo lies. I follow Eren to it, where he steps up and gazes around a minute before waving me along and sinking onto the bench bordering the inside. He props his cane up beside him and flexes his fingers, massages his palm with the opposite thumb. I perch myself next to him, simply watching.

"Levi?" he murmurs after a while of silence; I jump involuntarily at the sound of my name in his voice.

"Hm?"

"I was wondering...what did you do around here before you met me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, since you said you didn't have any friends and that you aren't a people person and all that, and since you don't like watching TV and stuff..." He trails off.

"I read."

For the first time since stepping foot outside the building, Eren fixed his eyes on me. They're still wide, still full of wonder and curiosity though this time it's for a different reason. "What do you read?" he asks.

"Anything I can get my hands on, really. Fiction, non-fiction, biographies...I'd say anything but, say, text books."

"So you're not picky." He nods, absorbing this information. "Is that it?"

"Pretty much."

"Do you ever write?"

"Stories?"

"Yeah. Or anything, I guess."

"Not really."

"What do you mean, not really?"

"I have," I say, "but none of my spur of the moment ideas ever go anywhere. I'm never motivated to continue them."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure."

"Give me an example."

"An example?"

"Of one of your ideas."

At first I'm a bit baffled. I can't imagine why he'd want an example of one of my shitty ideas I'd never cared to even write down. Most of them are ridiculous in my eyes, anyway. But since he's shown me his enormous talent at the piano and played songs for me upon my request, I figure I owe him this much. I search around that dusty corner of my memory to find one that didn't completely suck.

"There was one...about a man who could fly. He wanted to find God, and thought his wings could carry him to heaven...but once he reached the outermost parts of the atmosphere, he found the whole concept of it to be a myth. That's all I got." I shrug and look away from Eren, mildly embarrassed. This was one I'd come up with several months ago and at the time, it seemed pretty interesting. However, now that I've said it out loud to someone like Eren, it seems ridiculous.

"Wow," he murmurs. I risk a glance back; he's still gazing at me, eyes sparkling. His imagination is clearly running amuck. "That sounds neat. Why don't you write it?"

"Loss of inspiration, I guess."

"Damn, that sucks. I would've liked to read it."

I scrutinize the kid. "You're just saying that," I accuse.

"No, no, really! I think that sounded pretty cool. I could never have thought of something like that."

"Hmph, and you're the creative one."

Eren snorts, nudging me with his knee. "You're obviously pretty creative, too," he retorts. I simply roll my eyes at his ridiculousness.

Silence falls over again. A few birds chirp here and there, some bees buzz their way by, essentially ignoring us. Hearing footsteps, we turn to find a dark-haired girl with a nurse shuffling down the path. Eren smiles and offers a wave, which they politely return. I only nod in acknowledgement, and they continue on.

Again, Eren is the one to break the quiet.

"So what's your favorite book?"

"Don't have one."

"Huh? How don't you have a favorite book?" He seems perplexed.

Brow cocked, I counter with, "What's your favorite song?"

He blinks once. Twice. Thrice. Smiles. "Touché."

"Why are you asking these things, anyway?" I inquire.

"I just wanted to get you know you better...to know if you have any passions or...who you are. Can't exactly bond like that over the piano."

"Hm, so that's why you wanted to come out here instead today."

"Sorta..."

It seems he wants to say more, but is rendered unable by an eruption of coughing, seemingly coming from his very core. He swivels his torso away from me, burying his face in his arm. The only thing I can think to do is rub his shoulder until it's over. By the time it is, his pale face has been reddened, his eyes shinier with a bit extra moisture. I dismiss his apologetic, rueful grin with a shake of my head.

"Do you wanna go inside?"

"No. I'm alright." He folds his hands in his lap, but I don't miss the sudden, although slight, shakiness of them. My heart lurches for him, but I bury the fear and pain in finding a way to change the subject.

"So, your turn," I say.

Noticing my use of his words, he chuckles lightly. "Okay. Shoot."

"What made you wanna learn the piano all those years ago?"

"All those years ago?" he repeats. "You say that like I'm old."

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

He laughs. "Yeah. Well, I wasn't really the one to make the decision to get lessons. I mean, I was only four. But I guess I've just always been drawn to music, even back then. My mom told me I used to play with those baby toys that played music more than anything else, and I would hum while I ate or colored or something...and supposedly I hummed myself to sleep." He snorts; his cheeks bear the faintest flush. "So she got me lessons, and I was thrilled. Still am, honestly. It's helped me a lot through being sick and stuff."

"Is it all you play?"

"Yes and no. I picked up the guitar a little bit, too...and I started with the cello a bit in middle school. But when I was diagnosed again at the beginning of high school, I kinda had to stop playing both of those 'cause I didn't have any at home to practice with. I mean, occasionally I'd get my hands on one, but never like the piano. But it's my favorite, anyway."

I hum for lack of anything better to respond with. I attempt to picture a younger Eren - healthier, a head full of hair and eyes even brighter than the ones he bears now, smaller and a bit chubbier with baby fat, plucking away at a piano ten times the size of him with little dimpled hands. It's difficult, what with having no knowledge of his hair color or how he might appear was he healthy, but I manage a fuzzy, distorted image solely conjured by my imagination.

"What's that smile for?" he asks, breaking me from the brief daydream. And I realize I am, indeed, smiling, though it's small.

"Nothing," I say a bit too quickly.

"Suuuure," he drawls with his own smile - tired, but wider than I've seen it yet.

"Shush," I mutter. "Anyway, we should probably start heading back in before they come after us."

Sighing lightly as he does when herded from the music room, he reaches for his cane. "Guess you're right."

Wordlessly, I stand and give him a minute to do the same, prepared in case he needs my help. He doesn't, but he wobbles a bit, face scrunching in pain. He's so fragile, so weak...

We trail back side by side, not speaking but taking what's left of our time to take in the abundance of plants, trees, and flowers around us once more. Eventually, the bubbling of the fountain fades from earshot and we reach the same door we exited from. Eren's nurse waits inside and smiles upon catching sight of us. She slides the door open and allows us back inside before shutting it behind us, smothering the sounds of the outdoors.

"Eren, you're okay to spend some time in the music room, if you'd like," says the nurse.

"Um..." he mumbles, glancing my way. I shrug, indifferent. "Actually, I think I'd rather go back to my room and rest for a while. All that walking took a lot out of me."

"Okay," I murmur.

"But meet me tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure."

Eyes bright, although reflecting the fatigue he claims to feel, his smile never falters. He reaches for my hand, cool fingers wrapping around mine for a brief squeeze - a way of saying goodbye without actually verbalizing it. Before he releases, I squeeze back with an unfamiliar kind of tightness in my chest but warmth radiating from his touch.

With that, we go our separate ways for the day. Having nothing better to do, I stroll back to my room. In a way I'm grateful he decided not to visit the piano today; with so little sleep I, too, am exhausted on top of it being a general side-effect from my disease.

I remove my shoes, snatch a book at random from the shelf, and snuggle myself among the blankets and pillows of my bed. I thumb the book open, find the first page, and begin reading, though not five minutes into the book I'm dozing off, and eventually fall asleep with a certain smile and pair of eyes plastered to the backs of my eyelids...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I'm so happy people have been interested in this...almost 600 hits, WOW. Anyway, let me know what you think! ♥


	7. -Day 7-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren's family pays him a visit.

The next time I make the journey to Eren's room, I again find it to be open and full of people. This time, however, he isn't surrounded by doctors, but five children of varying demeanor and appearance and a dark-haired, amber-eyed woman.

He's sitting in the chair, wrapped up in a blanket with a blonde girl who can't be over the age of three or four curled up with him. She's smiling, her big blue eyes sparkling in delight as the remainder of the children are scattered about, ranging from what I presume to be ages five to about fifteen. The woman is poised on the bed. An aimless conversation takes place between the seven of them, and they don't notice me ghosting in the doorway.

It takes me all of two seconds to figure out this is Eren's family - his mother and all those foster siblings he told me about. It takes about another two seconds for me to make the decision to leave. Eren had simply asked me to meet him; he hadn't specified where or when, and I had made the decision to find him on my own accord. He was busy and I have no place to interfere, so I turn on my heel as silently as possible to make my way back to my room...

...only to be stopped by Eren's familiar voice calling my name. I peek back in the doorway. He hasn't moved, but he's beaming in my direction like I've done something to make his whole week. His siblings, however, have all swiveled their heads to look at me, too. In one instant, my heart squeezes and my stomach clenches.

"Hey," Eren says. "Where were you going?"

"Nowhere," I mumble, "Just, uh, back to my room. I can see you're busy and I don't want to intrude."

"Nonsense." It's his mother who says this, a smile uncannily resembling the one Eren wears gracing her feminine features. "Come on in."

I relent at the seven pairs of eyes on me, watching and waiting. I should leave, go back to my room and let Eren have time with his family for likely one of the last times ever. I know I really have no place here...

"It's okay," Eren assures. "Come on."

And so I move quietly into the room, trying unsuccessfully to refrain from twitching in discomfort under so many youthful stares.

"Guys, this is Levi," Eren introduces almost proudly. "Levi, this is Christa-" he pats the girl in his lap on the back "-Marco-" he gestures to the freckled boy who's got a gameboy or something of the sort in his hands, cuddled up closely to his mother; he looks about five or six, maybe seven "-Sasha-" a girl about ten on the floor next to Marco; she smiles at me "-Mikasa-" a raven-headed Asian girl, fourteen or fifteen with a very reserved expression and dark eyes near Sasha "-and Armin." The last is a blond teenager probably a few years younger than Eren, leaving him to be about sixteen or so. He, too, casts me a smile and murmurs hello. "And this is my mom, Carla." He nods in the woman's direction. If not for the freckled boy clinging to her side (who's gone back to his video game), I'm almost certain she would stand up and shake my hand. Instead, she settles for a friendly smile and a "so nice to meet you."

The idle chatter builds back up as I find a comfortable position leaning against the wall, hands hidden away in my pockets as usual. Eren's almost a perfect big brother, asking each of his siblings how school is, how things are coming, and listening intently to each of their answers. Eventually, the little one in his lap falls asleep. He questions his mom about a few things, and she returns the gesture. I'm included in a few of the conversations, though never without a prompt or invitation.

The strong bond his family bears is plain as day to see. They're close, and it's no doubt at least partially caused by Eren's sickness. It's difficult to tell, though, if each of them knows exactly what's happening to their big brother - if they understand he's essentially being robbed of his life from the inside out. Surely they understand most of it, and the two eldest are more than aware of it by the sad undertone in each of their eyes.

"So, Levi, I hear Eren's teaching you the piano," Carla addresses me, her eyes wrinkled at the edges with her smile. She, too, bears the sadness, and hers goes much deeper than the others'.

"Yeah. He is."

"How's that going?" She winks in her son's direction.

"Well, I suppose," I say, glancing him my own sly glance. "But it'll take me years to even hope to come close to his level."

The woman laughs lightly, the sound of it conjuring a memory of the sound of light wind chimes in a soft breeze. Must be where Eren gets his musicality from.

"Yes, he's always been exceptional in the musical field. He used to spend hours playing the piano and would get so immersed in practicing that he'd need to be reminded to eat or go to the bathroom."

"Oh god, Mom, you don't need to tell him that..." mumbles Eren, eyes downcast and a blush coloring his sullen cheeks.

"Too late," she says, reaching over and pinching his cheek. "You're passionate. Why shouldn't I share that with your friends?"

"Hmph..." Eren sends me an apologetic glance; I simply shake my head. I'm okay knowing this; in fact, I'm glad to. And...admittedly, I want to know more.

"Eren, can we watch TV?" asks a small voice -it's coming from Marco; the others perk up at the sound of the word 'TV'.

"Sure thing." He retrieves the remote from the TV stand to his right and casts it off to one of the older two, who works on turning it on.

"Not too loud, though," warns Carla.

"'Kay..."

Marco slides from the bed and squeezes himself between his older siblings. He multitasks between playing his game and watching the television, not uncommon for a kid his age.

With the space now freed at her side, Carla waves me over and gestures for me to sit. I comply, although gingerly. I'm still feeling mildly out of place, though now I'm grateful the others have a distraction from giving me curious or suspicious glances.

"So are ya gonna continue to embarrass me, Ma?" Eren jokes.

"Bragging, not embarrassing," she corrects. "And of course I am. I have so much I could share about you."

"That's what all parents say," he grumbles around a wide yawn. The girl in his lap squirms a bit. Her tiny hand grips the blanket tighter, she snuggles closer, but does not wake. She's comfortable, sleeping on him like that, further proof of his impeccably pure soul.

"Maybe so, but it's still true," counters Carla.

"Okay, but you don't have to bore him..."

"I won't be bored," I murmur. "Tell me."

Carla casts her golden gaze on me. That's all the encouragement she needs to launch into seemingly endless stories about her son. She doesn't talk about his cancer, his treatment, or how he's terminal. She sticks to the happier times, watching him grow up and learn the piano. She recounts stories including his determination and ambitiousness. She tells me how proud she is, how happy she's been to see him happy most of his life. She tells me even the littlest things - about a time he rescued a little black cat off the street and his first time on a rollercoaster...any normal times a child would have.

And not once throughout her spiel do I get bored. In fact, it's quite the opposite. I'm engaged, surprising myself. I'm intrigued to learn these things about this boy I met only a week ago, about this kid who shuffled into my life with an untuned piano and a bright smile, shedding a little light onto my dull existence.

Carla speaks very highly of him, too. She loves him so much more than I'd ever witnessed a mother loving her child. She loves the rest, of course, but I can tell he holds something special; whether it's because he's hers biologically or some other reason unbeknownst to me, I don't know. And because she loves him so much, she's in pain, too. When she inevitably loses him, it will crush her. And I cannot blame her because in my own way, I identify.

By the time she's finished, Eren has fallen asleep. His face bears an essence of peace despite the mildly ragged breathing moving in and out of his lungs. His body subconsciously remains mindful of the little girl in his lap, who also stays unconscious.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I didn't mean to spend so much time babbling."

"It's alright," I murmur back.

"I wanna show you something," she tells me suddenly, swiveling around to dig for something in her purse placed on the bed next to her. It doesn't take her long for her to retrieve a small off-white wallet-like thing and snap it open. Inside is a small book - or, rather, photo album. It consists of little plastic slots no bigger than 2" by 3", and there are only five or six of them. They carry wallet sized photos, of course, and the first one holds a picture of the oldest blond boy, Armin. She flips past two of them before she reaches one of Eren and passes the object over to me.

He's young - a good decade younger than the person I know now, leaving him to be nine or ten. The picture is simple, showing him from the chest up with a smile, directly facing the camera. From what I can see, he wears a dark brown sweater over an olive green t-shirt and some sort of necklace, though I can't tell what hangs at the end as it disappears below what's shown in the photo. He bears a disheveled mop of shiny, chocolate brown locks hanging parted over his forehead. It sticks up here and there, particularly at the crown of his head, and I can tell it was probably too soft to do much about. His skin is a lively, much healthier shade of ivory, the faintest flush in his cheeks. I'm sure they were warm, soft as they curve gently. His lips, too, are pinker, fuller. His eyebrows are fairly thick, but they fit, and his lashes are long and dark and thick.

But his eyes are by far the most captivating, exquisite feature about him. The eyes I know already are, but in this photograph, taken when he was in a much better state of health, are breathtaking. Big and round and iridescent, full of life, happiness, eagerness, they're an unimaginable hue of teal - greens and blues swirling lustrously throughout them. They remind me of an ocean, the sky, the sun, forests and rivers all in one. I can't completely fathom it.

"I put him in the middle because he's always seemed to be the heart of our family," Carla says quietly, looking on over my shoulder. From the corner of my eye, I catch the swiveling of a blond, mushroom-shaped head and glance up to find Armin gazing at us, smiling sadly. I can tell by his expression that he agrees with her. I look back at the photo.

"Even though he's sick, he's always been the one to keep us together. I'll always carry this with me." She glides the very tip of her finger along the edge of the photograph - a gossamer touch. "I'm sure he'll find peace."

Any words I might be able to say are caught in my throat, forming a lump I can't even swallow past. My hands shake lightly, and as reluctant as I am to do so, I hand the wallet back to her. Smiling at the photo one last time, she closes it and replaces it into her purse.

Eren is still asleep a few minutes later when she decides it's time to leave. As the kids make sure they have everything and are ready to go, she wakes him by simply brushing her fingers across his forehead. His eyes flutter open and he mumbles a bit, lifting his head.

"Eren, darling, I'm afraid it's time for us to head out."

"Hmm...okay," he mumbles sleepily.

The child in his lap wakes, too, upon hearing her words, and when she realizes what they mean, her eyes fill with tears.

"I don't wanna go," she says, placing her tiny hand on Eren's chest and holding fast to the front of his shirt.

"I'm sorry, Christa, but we have to."

"Noooo!" she wails, clinging closer to Eren. He smiles sleepily, folding her gently in his arms and stroking her messy braid.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he murmurs. But that's all he says. He doesn't reassure her that they'll see each other again, doesn't tell her he'll be okay. Doesn't instill false hope in her innocent heart. Because he knows he'd be lying.

Still, he reminds the girl he loves her, kisses her forehead and fixes her braid. The rest of the group huddles together, observing with their own sad eyes. Marco hugs close to Armin; Sasha and Mikasa's hands are clutched together between them. Christa is removed from Eren's lap and the rest of them take turns hugging him, exchanging 'I love yous'. Carla has insisted Eren remain seated despite his protests.

Of course, none of them can know for sure this is the last time they'll be seeing him, and Eren himself doesn't know it for sure either. Still, this can't possibly be easy for them.

I remain in my place, practically frozen, as Carla is the last to lean down and hug her son tightly. His arms come up and grip her tightly.

"Thanks for coming," he says. "Sorry I slept the whole time..."

"You needed your rest, Eren. I'm just glad we got to come see you."

"Me, too."

"I love you, son. So much. Don't forget that, okay?" Her voice trembles a bit, but she holds strong.

"I love you, too, Mom," he says.

As they depart, I find myself thinking it ironic how the dying usually remain the strongest emotionally, bringing the reassurance and seemingly holding things together for everyone else while they should be the one who needs those things. But I know in my own experiences that we who are so intimate with death already have all we really need, with no other choice than to accept the fact that we're doomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo to anyone who may be interested, within the next few days I'll probably start publishing another fic on here (yes, it will be Ereri). I'm sorta hesitant to put it up but we'll see how it goes.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading and let me know what you think! ♥ (and yeah, even though I wrote it, this story breaks my heart, too...Dx)


	8. -Day 8-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi's emotions.

Eren's slender fingers pluck the strings of the guitar as his other hand works on twisting the tuning pegs at the top. The instrument - smooth, black, and shiny (after I'd found a cloth to wipe it down with) - is balanced in his lap, the sound of the strings echoing throughout the inside to produce the sound, ever changing as he works to adjust them. His head swivels back and forth between his hands, making the tiniest of adjustments on each of the strings until he's satisfied.

I'm merely watching from the piano bench while he resides in one of the plush chairs a few feet away, brow furrowed in concentration. I can't help but think he downplayed his skills in this particular instrument already, seeing as he knows how to tune it.

It didn't take much coaxing to get him to pick it up and demonstrate what he knows. He claimed over and over that he isn't all that skilled with a guitar, but I want proof.

"Okay," he says, strumming the pad of his thumb down the strings a few minutes later. "I think I got it." His eyes meet mine. "What exactly did you want me to do?"

"Don't care. Anything."

"Umm..." He shifts a bit uncomfortably, running his left hand up and down the neck like he's trying to grow accustomed to the feeling of the instrument. I can almost see the gears rotating in his head and the steam dancing out of his ears as he thinks.

Abruptly, his features relax and a seemingly devious smile creeps its way through his lips.

"Here," he says, and begins plucking. It only takes three notes for me to figure out he's half-assing the most childish song he could possibly know - _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_. He laughs, though, once finished and looks up to find me staring at him, annoyed. I roll my eyes dramatically.

"What?"

"You're a child," I mutter, though not without mild amusement snaking its way into my tone.

Chuckling, he says, "Okay, I'll make you a deal."

"Another deal?" I scoff, crossing my arms.

"Yeah. If you can give me two song names that fit that tune, I'll play something serious."

"And if I can't?"

"Then we go back to the piano, and that means more scales."

I sigh internally and think myself lucky to know that _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_ and the tune for the ABCs carry the same melody. It's not that I dislike scales or playing, I'm just still not all that interested in learning to play as I may pretend to be in front of Eren. I'm more interested in _his_ playing, in what he knows...in Eren himself. Still, I'm far from ever admitting that out loud. I'd probably rather catch a cold...

I tell him the names of the songs, and his eyes sparkle in amusement.

"Everyone who breathes oxygen should know that those two songs have the same tune," I mutter.

"Touche."

"Now play. You promised."

"Okay, okay," he chuckles. He runs his hand down the neck and back up once again, chewing his lip in thought, or perhaps uneasiness. He hesitates.

"What?" I ask.

"It's just..." He clears his throat, shifting his weight from right to left. "Everything I know on guitar requires singing," he mumbles, deliberately keeping his gaze away from mine, the faintest of blushes dusting his cheeks, his nose, the tips of his exposed ears.

"So sing," I say simply, though my insides flutter at the thought of his voice carrying on a melody as he plays. I tense involuntarily.

"You really want me to? I mean...my voice..." He rubs his throat out of evident insecurity. "It's...not all that great anymore."

Indifferent, I shrug. He stares at me for a minute before clearing his throat again and mumbling another soft "okay". His entire upper frame seems to expand with the deep breath he draws in. He plucks for a minute, playing random riffs and chords, pauses.

And begins again, this time playing the beginning of a melody that, unsurprisingly, is unfamiliar to my ears. Just as the piano, though, I feel something inside of me flutter, and when he begins to sing, I feel as if I could be the man in my never-written story, sprouting my own wings to carry me high, high up, his voice being the air filling them up and allowing my ascendance.

His voice is soft, melodious despite its mild scratchiness. Harmonious with the instrument he plays fluidly. The notes tangle together, weave through and around each other flawlessly. I'm encaptured in Eren's talent, and again I find myself wishing we had forever simply so I can remain here and listen to him until the end of time.

And as the song fades to a close, I'm also reminded of how we have quite the opposite of forever, and my stomach is tight.

"So?" Eren asks, searching my eyes hopefully.

But I'm completely speechless. My jaw is shut tight, refusing to open while my tongue is a dead thing, jailed in my teeth. Shakily, I lift a hand and bury my face in it.

"Levi?" Worry swims its way into his tone; I hear as the guitar is set back down into its stand. "Are you okay?"

Yes. But no.

I can't say it. I can't say anything. My throat has closed and my eyes sting, despite being squeezed shut.

"I'll go get a nurse..."

I hear him stand up, the click of his cane signalling he's headed for the door. I find it in myself to reach out and snatch his hand, trying not to hold too tight and end up hurting him. But my muscles remain tense; I can feel myself trembling.

"What's the matter?" he asks, almost frantically.

"D-don't leave," I manage shakily.

"But..."

"I'm okay," I breathe.

Gently, Eren's cool fingers wrap around my hand. I don't uncover my face; I'm afraid to look at him. Afraid that, in this horribly and suddenly desperate state, I might say or do something to push him away. Afraid I'll suddenly tell him everything I'm feeling and he'll think I'm being ridiculous. Or afraid I might tell him I can't do this anymore...because no matter what, I will lose him.

"Was...it that bad?" he asks quietly. In other situations, he might be joking. But I know this time, he's 100% serious. "I told you I'm not very good with a guitar...and my voice-"

"No," I cut in, bringing my hand away from my eyes. "No, Eren. It was good."

Eren shuffles around to take a seat on the bench next to me, switching hands as he does so and setting his cane down. Though I'm not looking at his face, I know he's frowning.

"Then what's wrong?"

I offer him the slightest shake of my head. I can't tell him. I'm already displayed too much weakness and besides, even if I wanted to tell him - and part of me does - I'm certain I wouldn't be able to find the right words.

"You don't have to be sad, Levi," he murmurs.

"I'm not," I say reflexively, glad my voice doesn't give me away.

"Oh, please. Don't play dumb."

"What?" I steal a glance at him from the corner of my eye. "How would you even know?"

"Because." He squeezes my hand just a little tighter; my breath catches in my throat. "I've seen that look in my mom's eyes countless times."

"You..." I trail off, shaking my head just slightly. I'm right. I can't find the words. I can't find any words. I may as well have forgotten what words are.

He smiles reassuringly, but in his eyes I detect a hint of pain. Suddenly I want nothing more than to be able to reach inside of him and remove that pain - emotional, physical, spiritual, all of it. But if it were that easy, I wouldn't have ever felt bad for this bright-eyed piano player and decided to humor him and be his friend, because he wouldn't be sitting here, and neither would I, and I wouldn't feel this...undeniable and unfamiliar _longing_ I do at this moment. But I do. Because it isn't that easy, so that trace of pain remains as he speaks.

"Come on, let's get back to your lessons. You're not gonna learn anything if we just sit here staring at each other." With one last squeeze, he releases my hand and swivels around on the stool. I shake myself and do the same.

I hide my longing beneath years of practice of forcing myself to remain indifferent, impassive, stoic. I tell myself there's no use bearing it because it won't lead to anything and in the end can and will bring more pain than not.

"So I thought...maybe you'd like to learn a song?" Eren inquires, absently playing with the petals as he does. "Since we obviously don't have a lot of time, and all the basics are boring, anyway..."

I drop dirt on the searing flames those words make me feel, smothering it. "What song?" I ask.

"I dunno." He scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "I didn't get that far." He chuckles.

"You're not gonna teach me _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_ , are you?" I joke halfheartedly. This is good. I remain outwardly normal.

"I will if you want me to," he jokes back.

"Hmph, spare me."

Laughing hoarsely, he leans a bit closer. So close I can feel his warmth, hear his breath. But I'm comfortable with it. I shouldn't be comfortable with it.

"So, I really didn't suck?" he asks suddenly, tilting his head back a bit to indicate his earlier playing. I owe it to him to be honest.

"Not at all," I promise.

"Even with this whole mess?" He pats his throat.

"Yes."

I feel I should tell him more, say something as to how amazing he is, how talented. However, I've never been even decent at expressing how I feel or what I think, and with emotions so profound such as these with Eren and his talent as the cause, attempting to do so now would be absolutely hopeless.

Even so, he seems satisfied with my simple answer. "I'm glad."

"So, what will you teach me?"

"I dunno..." he murmurs, pursing his lips in thought. He plucks a bit, plays aimlessly for a few minutes, seemingly all the while contemplating his answer. I simply wait, watching back and forth between his hands and his face. It's mildly amusing, watching the gears rotate in his mind until he gasps lightly. His eyes light up like a Christmas tree and a wide, mischievous grin spreads out on his rosy lips.

"I know what to teach you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is left up to your imagination what Eren plays on the guitar (and you guys should totally comment what song you imagined, if you had one specifically in mind (; ).
> 
> But okay you guys don't understand how proud I am of this fic. I go back to it each week to edit it before I post it and I'm sorta blown away every time like, "Wow, I wrote this?!" xD
> 
> I also wanted to let you guys know I do have [twitter](https://twitter.com/_PorcelainSmile) and [tumblr](mustangoftheflame.tumblr.com) shoot me an @ or a message; I don't bite! (It is easier to reach me on twitter, though! n_n)
> 
> And, whoops, another thing - I decided to post the fic I was talking about in the notes of the last chapter, and you can find that [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5382992/chapters/12432899)!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and let me know what you think and all that!


	9. -Day 9-

The song Eren began teaching me has been stuck in my head since we started yesterday. I fell asleep with the melody on repeat and woke up the same way, and though I can't be completely sure, I think I dreamt about it, too. It's annoying, but not as so as I might normally find it to be.

As usual, he beats me to the music room, but he doesn't notice my presence as he's much too preoccupied by the keys, only one hand plucking at them quietly while the other is nestled between his thighs like he's trying to keep it warm. I give myself a moment to take him in before I make my presence known.

He's...virtually the same as the day I first met him, though I can only say that tentatively. He sports the faintest shadow on his otherwise bald scalp where his follicles are attempting to grow hair again, but surely his body is busier with things more important than simply growing hair. Nonetheless, it tries. He's still frighteningly thin and weak, his clothes - a tan V-neck covered by a gray sweater and black sweats, the same beige, wool slippers on his feet - all but engulf him, hanging loosely around his body. His eyes remain big and bright, narrow in concentration, and he plays the same several notes over and over, perhaps attempting to figure out what should come subsequent.

But none of this is what causes my heart to lurch in my chest. No, it's the way he sits, hunched over a bit more than normal, fingers shaky. It's the extra discomfort mixed in with his concentration. It's the...suddenly grayish, extra paleness state of his complexion, lacking its usual mild flush in the cheeks, dark circles encasing his eyes bearing heaviness beneath them.

So much change in so little time...

The lump in my throat comes back. By the time I've decided to make my presence known to Eren, he's figured out what note should come next, and he's brought his left hand up to join the right. He plays quietly.

I give three short knocks to the frame of the door. Eren immediately jerks upright, ceasing all playing, his head swiveling in my direction. Despite the subtle grimace tugging away at the corners of his mouth, his eyes light up so familiarly it has my heart stuttering.

"Hey," he says, cheer still coating his tone.

"'Morning," I murmur, striding my way toward him. He moves over on the bench and I take my place.

"How are you today?"

I raise a brow. He's never asked that. "Okay, I suppose..."

"Good," he says, but continues to look me over closely as if he's trying to make sure I'm telling the truth. I can feel myself shrinking back minimally. I swallow hard, a bit uneasy underneath his green gaze. It's light, though; past his pain, his eyes smile at me.

Once it seems he's satisfied that I am, indeed, telling the truth, he nods and casts his gaze back to the yellowed keys. A funny feeling bubbles up from deep inside me - an inkling, of sorts, that there's something he was contemplating telling me, or a deeper reason he suddenly decided to ask me how I'm doing. My stomach churns at the thought, and I can't take my eyes away from his face...beautiful in spite of his evident illness.

"Shall we get started?" he asks.

"No," I say.

He turns again, bewildered. "Why not?"

Out with it, I think. "There's something you're hiding," I state. "Something you're not telling me."

I half expect him to deny it, but he doesn't. Instead, he relents, holds my gaze steadily. Sadness swims into his features, accompanying pain and nearly consuming the happiness caused by my presence. I hold my breath.

"I guess there's no use keeping it secret," he says. His hand twitches in my direction; hesitates. Before I really think to, I cover it with my own. He smiles sadly and moves so our fingers are laced together. "Remember the checkup I had a few days ago?" I nod. "Well...they did some tests and whatnot, just monitoring my condition so they know what's going on." He stops suddenly, looking me dead in the eye. "Are you sure you wanna know?"

"Yes," I say firmly, though ironically because I'm not sure I do.

"Well," he continues, "It's not a surprise to anyone, but my cancer has spread through more of my organs, bones, and now to my skin." He sighs; my chest is so tight, as if someone's reaching right into it and holding my heart in a fist. I can't breathe. "They told me I only have weeks, if not days, left."

I feel like a little kid with the urge to clap my hands over my ears and run from the room so I don't have to hear this news. Still, I force myself to remain calm, rational. He's right; it isn't a surprise, especially with how quickly he's been deteriorating. Even my eyes, lacking the expertise about human biology and illnesses, have been able to see it clearly.

Eren's only been here a couple of weeks, but it isn't uncommon for someone to only live here a little while before they perish. I just happened to draw the long straw...or, I suppose, short, because I've been here so long with no purpose.

Until Eren...

"Are you afraid?" I ask softly.

"I feel like I should be, but no. I've been expecting it for so long..." His sentence peters out into a light sigh.

"You...say that like you're ready."

"Well, I don't think anybody's ever really ready to die, y'know? Not even the people who take their own lives. I don't really want to die, especially not so soon, but I accepted the fact that I would a long time ago. So when the time comes...it'll come. Can't do anything about it, right?"

"Hmm."

"But anyway, you deserved to know. I was just afraid to tell you, I guess." A half smile flashes across his lips.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want to hurt you. But I think telling you will hurt less...so you can be prepared, too."

Prepared. Hmph. There's no amount of anything that could possibly prepare me for his death, or mine, or anyone's I care about...not that that list is great in number, but still.

"Teach me more," I say. I need a distraction. And I want more time with him, to soak up every last drop I possibly can. Why, I cannot say.

"Okay." He perks up and gives my hand a squeeze before releasing it and lifting his own back to the keys. At normal tempo, he plays the same riff that's been stuck in my head for such a long time, and hearing it in person is so much more beautiful and humbling than the distorted version my memory carries.

"Remember?" he asks.

"Yeah." Once he withdraws his hand, I replace it with my own and play the same riff. I manage without any mistakes, but it's slower and much choppier. Still, the sound being produced by my own fingers is satisfying in its own way.

"Again," he coaxes.

This time as I play it out, Eren uses his left hand to complete it, keeping in tempo with me. It sounds...decent, what with my novice attempt.

"Okay, so," he says - another phrase he's made a habit of using frequently, "you play that, and then again, but it goes up a note at the end instead." He demonstrates as always, playing the one I know and following up the way he described - slower, so I can see what he means, and then at normal pace so I have an idea of how it's supposed to sound. I make an attempt, the sound of the strings ringing through the acoustics of the music room.

Because it's such a small space, reserved for nothing more than a few instruments, chairs, a fireplace, and a chandelier, the sound bounces off the walls a bit and causes some of the stringed instruments - a violin hanging on the wall just for show, a small harp in the corner, and a guitar - to ring faintly along with the baby grand. They always do this, as if they are somehow inhabited by their own spirits much like Eren's; they never refrain from singing along to the piano, and when Eren plays, it always creates a harmonious background chorus.

This continues for the rest of the hour. Eren continues to teach me, and I manage to play through the entire first verse with him using his left hand while I use my right. We are two halves of the whole, the creators to this sound that, due to my amateur status, doesn't come together as well as it would had it been solely Eren. Even so, I'm happy to be playing with him, to know him, to simply be sitting next to him.

"Wow," he says after we've gone through it for what feels like the hundredth time. "You're picking this up fast."

Shrugging, I flex my hand. "When did you write this, anyway?"

"About a year ago."

"What was your inspiration for it?"

Eren bows his head sheepishly, offering no answer.

"What?" I ask.

"It's...cheesy," he mumbles with a quipped laugh.

"Tell me," I urge.

"It was inspired by my mother's wind chimes in the backyard of our house." When I raise a questioning brow, he explains. "We have a deck outside our back door, and on the edge of the roof she has some wind chimes. Like, little birds and swirly things and stuff. And we have a swing, too, and one morning I was just sitting there enjoying the peace, and listening to them, I got inspired...popped out this song by the end of the day."

I hum softly, trying to imagine it the way I do the stories in my abundance of books. I see a large backyard, perhaps harboring a large tree. A maple. Lush, green grass and a wooden porch made of oak, a beige swing - the same color as Eren's slippers - in the corner, with the kind of wind chimes he's described. I wonder how in the world chimes of all things spark inspiration, but I'm no one to question artistic motivation.

"And does it have a name?" I ask.

"Ah, no," he mumbles, habitually scratching his head. "I'm really bad at naming my songs."

I snort. "Should've known."

"Hey," he mutters, elbowing me lightly.

"Shh." I elbow back.

"Eren," calls a soft voice from the door.

"Dang. Time's up already?" He reaches for his cane. "If you can, practice that, okay? Until you can't get it wrong."

"I will." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, but they trigger a bright smile. Said smile forms into a grimace of pain as Eren hefts himself to his feet, ignoring my offered hand of assistance.

"See ya tomorrow, Levi," he says.

"Tomorrow," I murmur, and watch him go, feeling as if part of me goes with him.

I pull in a deep breath and center myself on the bench, inspecting the keys. Like I told him I would, I begin to practice until my fingers, still not yet accustomed to this, ache. I feel the notes moving through me, like the piano and I are communicating through the music. Without it, I cannot hear this, I cannot create it. Without me, it cannot produce the sound.

And I find myself understanding why Eren adores it so much, why he gets so into it while he's playing. Inside the notes written by the kid himself, I feel him in there - between the piano and I, who know him equally as well, for we've known him an equal amount of time. It's peaceful. Calming. Bittersweet.

I am certain I won't ever regret making that deal with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As usual, let me know what you think :* ♥♥♥.


	10. -Day 10-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren's on bed rest.

_Levi,_

_I'm sorry to say Eren is on bed rest for the day and won't be making it to the music room. Of course, you're welcome to join him in his room if you'd like, I know he would enjoy the company._

_-Nurse Julia_

I carefully peel the note from the door, reading it over a few times to let the words sink in.

Eren's on bed rest. That can't be good.

I swallow around the lump - seemingly constantly there - in my throat. Past the door awaits the baby grand standing in solitude as if it's lonely without Eren. And it is; the vacancy of the room is strange to me upon showing up, seeing the bench empty and the room quiet.

I swallow again and fold the tape back, sticking it to the back of the paper, and then fold the note itself in half before tucking it away in my pocket. My footsteps remain soundless as I retrace them back toward the residential end of the building in search of room 104.

106...105...

I'm unsurprised to find the door propped halfway open; quiet, normal sounds of a television drifting out into the hallway. I peek in a bit and knock softly.

"Come in," Eren calls softly. I push the door open to find him enveloped in a nest of blankets and pillows in his bed, snuggled up so only his head is visible.

Still, I can see he's even worse than yesterday. Paler. Barely possessing the strength to lift his head; it's propped up on a throw pillow anyway. His eyes are hooded a bit, the irises lacking much of their usual luster. My stomach twists painfully.

"Hey," he breathes, a weak smile still managing to manifest and grace his features.

"Hey," I reply, migrating slowly into the room and making sure to put his door back into the position it'd been in.

"Have a seat." He nods at the chair to his right. I sink down into the brown suede material and cross my legs. "I'm glad you came. I was getting bored of this _Bizarre Foods_ marathon."

I glance at the screen where a large bald man is ogling over some seriously disgusting looking food, if it can even be called food. I scowl and turn back, repulsed by the sight. Eren chuckles weakly at my expression. His voice is so hoarse...

"You really don't like TV, do you?" he asks, an amused sparkle in his eye.

"Not at all," I say. "And I especially don't care for large men scarfing down abhorrent things he calls food," I spit the word.

"Hey, I like Andrew Zimmern," he utters semi-defensively, but he's still amused. "And you have to have a lot of guts to eat some of the stuff he does."

Once more, I gaze at the television, letting myself linger for a minute before turning away, a shudder dancing down my back. "Suppose you have to have guts to eat guts," I mutter.

Eren laughs again, this time harder, but I don't know why. The sentence wasn't intended to be funny. Quickly, however, his laughter turns to deep coughing that seems to come all the way up from his stomach; I instantly regret making him laugh, unintentional or not.

"Ow," he mutters once it's over, pale face reddened considerably. He smiles, though, once his eyes land back on my face, causing me to realize I must be frowning.

"Anyway, you can turn this off." He nods in the direction of the remote on the table between us. When I make no move for it, he asks me to, so I do. The room is left in silence, save for Eren's ragged breathing. The urge to fill said silence claws at me.

"Tell me about your family," I blurt.

"What about them?"

"I don't know. Anything. Where did your foster siblings come from?" Instantly I think this might be too personal a question, but Eren is unfazed.

"Well," he says; I can see him fidgeting beneath his blanket, surely with the end of his shirt or the strings of his sweats as he does habitually. "Armin - the oldest - was given up for adoption because his biological mother died shortly after he was born and his father was in the military, but he was killed. Sasha's parents couldn't take care of her but were forbidden by her mother's parents to get an abortion. Mikasa...well, her parents were killed when she was a toddler..."

"That's...damn." Genius, Levi. Real genius.

"I know," Eren murmurs. "And Marco's parents are criminals. They did drugs and stole things, so they're in prison and Marco was taken by social services. Him and his siblings. And they were all separated. I guess his parents kind of abused him, too, so he's more closed off than the rest of them." Eren's voice shakes. I'm speechless. "And little Christa is kind of the same as Sasha, but her mom actually personally asked my mom to take care of her right after she was born. She's the only one who's been with us her whole life so far."

"She seemed very attached to you."

"Yeah." He keeps his eyes away from me. "She always has been. I'm not sure why."

This is part of the reason I can't seem to stay away from this cancer-ridden teenager. He's humble. In the nine short days I've known him, I've picked up enough to come up with a million good reasons a 3 year old girl would be so attached to him, even if I can't put them into accurate words. That little girl and I have this in common. I understand her attachment. I understand the pain and sadness in his mother's eyes. I understand the quiet company of the rest of those kids, and I feel all of these, too.

Unfortunate as it is, I'm unsurprised the world is cruel enough to put such a modest, talented, and pure soul upon itself only to instill a deadly sickness within it and rob it of its chance to live, to get to know the world. Or perhaps he does know the world and apprehends it better than most, and that's why he's already so close to death.

No matter, his premature demise upon the pain and suffering he's spent half his life enduring is far from fair. My resentment toward the world increases.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asks in a small voice.

I blink, clearing my thoughts and surfacing back to the present. "Like what?" I mumble as I automatically avert my eyes, my knee-jerk reaction to pretend I wasn't looking at him any special way, or thinking of how much I wish he could live...

"I dunno. Like..." His teeth come down on his lower lip; the faintest of blushes color his face. "Never mind."

I narrow my gaze but elect not to reply.

"Anyway," he says, shaking himself. "Your turn."

I scowl, having forgotten he pulls this card every time he shares something about himself. His smile is encouraging though so I ask, "What do you wanna know?"

"You said you have siblings, right? Tell me about them."

"There's not much to say," I mumble. It's my turn to avert my eyes from the other in the room.

"Don't get along with them, huh?"

"It's not that." I shift a bit, clear my throat. Or maybe it is. After all, they are the ones who dumped me here against my will and rarely have the mind to contact me, much less pay me a visit. I haven't seen either of their faces in almost two years. But can I tell Eren, the one who bears an infinite amount of unconditional love for siblings he isn't even technically related to that I virtually resent those with whom I share my gene pool? I settle for saying, "We're not on the best terms."

"Why not?"

At first I think he's just prying with a desire to delve into ridiculous gossip about something as interesting as my life and relationship with what little family I have. It takes less than a second for me to come to the conclusion of how utterly absurd that is or would be, especially with the concern shining in his eyes.

"Would you be happy if the only people in your life you trusted dumped you in a place like this against your will?" I retort, and immediately regret the comparatively jarring edge in my voice due to his flinch.

"I guess not," he says quietly. "They don't visit often, do they?"

"I'm lucky if I get a phone call once a month."

And suddenly I'm feeling very lonely; the only people I've spoken to in who knows how long are a few nurses and Eren, who's got very little time left. I haven't realized how much I wish my siblings would call more often, or even visit, until now. I can feel myself shrinking in.

"You miss them," Eren states. It's a very simple sentence, but it strikes me as he seems to be studying me. I give him the slightest of nods; it would be useless denying it. "Well, even if it doesn't mean much, you have me." A soft smile pulls at his pale lips.

Not for long, I think. It's a fact we both know. A fact neither of us want to say out loud. So we don't.

"Joy," I grumble, sarcastic but playful as I roll my eyes.

"Heyy," he complains with a hoarse chuckle. "I don't think I'm that bad."

"Hmph, you're just a piano-playing brat," I say.

His lip protrudes in a mock pout. "Jerk," he mutters. I'm glad he knows I'm joking

I snort something of a laugh; his pout is consumed by a thousand watt smile that, even in such deep sickness, manages to light up the room and something deep within me. Laughter comes in a surprise and I've suddenly found myself immersed in a whirlpool of chuckles - both my own and Eren's. I don't know why I'm laughing, but it seems for a small moment, at least, I've forgotten who the person I've masqueraded as is. The laughter feels good, working my lungs in a new way and tightening the muscles of my abdomen. It's...liberating. This must be what it feels like to believe you can fly up and find heaven...

...only to realize it doesn't exist.

The laughter is short-lived due to Eren's quickly turning to dry coughs. He turns to the side, his body curling in on itself with each cough until his skin is red and he's grimacing in pain. When it's over, I find myself with my hand extended halfway toward him and frozen as if I were trying to will the suffering away from him.

"I'm okay," he says.

I shake my head just in time to realize he isn't talking to me; his eyes are pointed in the direction of the door. Stiffly, I turn just enough to see the blonde nurse, concern plastered in her features.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"Yeah," Eren rasps, sending her the best reassuring smile I'm sure he's able to muster. My heart cracks at the sight.

"I'll bring you some more water," she murmurs, eyeing the empty cup on his nightstand before striding back out.

Eren's gaze reverting back in my direction seems to thaw me out. I drop my hand back into my lap and sit back, slightly embarrassed.

"Will you help me sit up?" he asks, already attempting to prop himself upright.

I scramble to assist without thinking. Standing up, I lean over and gently slide an arm beneath Eren's frail torso and help him sit up as gently as I possibly can. He's so weak, like he'll break or crumble at just a little too much pressure.

"Thanks," he huffs.

I sink back into the chair just as the nurse reappears with a cup of water for Eren, complete with a straw and lid. She asks if he wants anything else and when he declines, she casts us a smile and departs once more.

"What's in your pocket?" Eren asks after a minute of water sipping. I glance down to the rectangular shape bulging from the pocket of my gray hoodie and slide the item out.

"A book."

The kid's eyes light up. He reaches out and I place it in his shaky hand. He studies the cover, reads the back, flips through it a bit, and then hands it back.

"Read to me," he says.

I cock a brow. "Are you a child?"

He chuckles roughly. "Sorta. I just wanna hear your voice." As soon as the words escape his lips, his eyes practically bulge from his head and a faint pink blush colors his cheeks. "I mean-"

"It's alright," I say. I'm already thumbing through the book - the first couple of pages reserved for the title page, table of contents, publication, dedication, etc. - and stop on the first chapter.

Smiling, Eren relaxes back into his pillows and I begin reading. In some ways it truly feels like I'm a parent or teacher reading to a little kid who can't yet, but I don't mind. Eren listens intently and for once, I'm comfortable doing this despite shoving to the back of my mind my fears of the inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! (i think.) I'm working on new stories! One is a Christmas oneshot (not finished yet, but I plan to have it up by Friday :3) and I'm really excited about it because it's so cute and asldkjf. (Even if you don't celebrate Christmas, I hope you can enjoy it, anyway.) The other is still in the development process but I think I might do what most people do - update chapter by chapter as I write it and see how it goes.
> 
> But as always, let me know what you think. ♥ (There are only a few chapters left, I'm sad to say D: But I'm anticipating your reactions to the end very much.) Thanks for reading; love you guys! ♥ ;*


	11. -Day 11-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginning of the end. Goodbyes.

We begin our time together in the garden again. A rainstorm from the previous night has left its mark on the plants, with little water droplets having collected on the leaves and petals of the flowers. Some slide off the sleek surfaces and create little dripping sounds all around us. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine it's still raining simply by the sounds. The scent of dew is fresh in the air, the sidewalks still damp.

I walk along slowly, pushing Eren in his newly acquired wheelchair in front of me. He was none too thrilled to have to use it, but his legs are weak, brittle, and can't hold him up for more than a few minutes anymore. Since before I left his room yesterday, he's been required to use it and had been grumbling to himself about it ever since. At least, until I pushed him past the threshold into the garden.

“You can stop if you get tired,” he says, reclining his beanie-covered head to look up at me.

“I'm fine,” I assure him. Walking doesn't tire me out so much. In fact, I don't mind pushing him along the concrete paths through all the plants. It's peaceful. It allows me to clear my head a bit and revel at what little nature I'm allowed to behold in however much time I have left.

Though I would never say this to anyone - especially Eren - I sometimes wish I would catch something from being outside just to end this miserable, pointless life without actually doing it myself. I'm too much of a coward to go through with that. All I do is sit and wait for some germ to find its way into my body and take me very quickly.

“Hey, do me a favor?” Eren is asking suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“Roll me over there.” He points toward a large rose bush that looks to be struggling to survive, though it's probably being closely taken care of to see if it will revive. It bears quite a few dead leaves, is wilting, and only sports two actual flowers we can see.

Wordlessly, I stroll over to it, glad the ground it's rooted in is flat enough for the wheels of Eren's wheelchair to handle. He leans forward, reaching out to gently caress a few of the dark pink petals with his bony fingers. I step to the side a bit, watching him closely. His pale pink lips are upturned in that smile of melancholy as he runs his hands so gently over the leaves. His skin catches some of the leftover rainwater and causes it to drip, landing soundlessly in the grass. The sadness in Eren's eyes, suddenly much greener being surrounded by the plant life, is contagious. I feel it seeping into me though the air and making a home in the pit of my stomach.

“Is it weird of me to be relating to a plant?” he asks softly.

Automatically, I shake my head. He glances back, playing that heartbreaking smile on me, and I'm sure my heart does, indeed, at least crack a little more.

Eren settles back into the chair once more, a light sigh brushing past his lips.

“I wonder if it will make it,” he says.

I don't want to tell him the possibility is slim. I'm sure he knows, anyway. Neither of us will admit things like that out loud, but we won't deny them, either. He has never told me he'll be okay, and I've never tried to assure him of the same thing either for him or myself. There's no use in lying to ourselves or denying the inevitable.

“Let's go back to the gazebo?” he asks.

I nod and maneuver his wheelchair back onto the sidewalk to make the rest of the journey to said gazebo. It's unchanged and unoccupied; I roll Eren up the ramp and into it, placing him a bit strategically so he can see essentially everything around him. I take a seat of my own on the bench next to him and neatly tuck my hands away in my pocket. We sit in comfortable silence for a while before he pipes up.

“I was thinking, Levi…”

“About?” I glance at him; he's still gazing around.

“Maybe…” He clears his throat. “Maybe becoming friends with you wasn't such a good idea.”

Panic immediately begins to blossom in my stomach.

“What? Why?” _What the hell did I do to fuck up this time?_

“Because everyone already seems to leave you, and I'm going to be no different. It's not right to cause you that pain.”

I don't say anything because he isn't wrong in the fact that when he's gone, it will hurt. In my silence, he goes on.

“I mean, I didn't think about it the day we made the deal. I just wanted a friend and you just happened to come along...but the worse I get, the more I realize how dumb it was. Y’know? Because even then I knew I wouldn't be around much longer. I just didn't think about it. I said you have me, and you do, but for how much longer? And even back then you said you didn't even want a friend, but I-”

“Stop,” I cut in. Finally, he meets my eyes. “That was true then, but it's not anymore.” Eren blinks at me, eyes softening with the very beginnings of a smile attempting to creep onto his features and I suddenly realize how much emotion I put into one simple sentence. Mildly uncomfortable, I look away again. “You can regret being my friend all you want, Eren, but I won't. Besides, it's too late to change it now, anyway. So...don't. Got it?”

I don't have to look at him to know he's smiling almost as bright as the sun hanging lazily in the pale sky overhead. He reaches for me and I catch his hand without thinking, wrapping my fingers around his colder ones. He mimics the action and gives me a light squeeze.

“I'm glad to hear you say that,” he says. “So then I wanna thank you.”

“Hmph, for what?”

“Everything. Being here. I know it's only been like two weeks, but I'm glad you've been around. For some reason I feel like I've known you a lot longer. And even if at first you didn't want a friend, I'm grateful you decided to humor me...for whatever reason.”

“It's nothing,” I mumble, sheepishness heightening.

“You're wrong. It's everything. I don't think I would've made a friend if it weren't for you.” He's wrong. His smile is enough to draw anybody in, especially if it managed to dig its hooks in someone like me. I feel the only reason he hasn't made any other friends is because of me, seeing as I keep to myself so much. “And I guess I don't really care that you're the only person I managed to befriend in this place,” he goes on. “I'm glad it was you.”

_You shouldn't be. I'm nothing special._

I almost want to scream this at him, but I don't. I can't help but be flattered, though.

“I-I’m glad, too,” I stammer quietly.

He squeezes my hand again. “Will you come here and remember me sometimes?”

It sounds so much like he's beginning to say goodbye, and such a farewell is in order. Both of us know that. We have known that. Nonetheless, it doesn't make it any less painful.

Swallowing hard, I move my hand just enough to thread my fingers gently between his. He's weak, but he's soft. Gentle. Our fingers fit comfortably together and I find myself wishing I had more time to hold his hand like this. I push the desire down, but it doesn't stop me from holding it a bit tighter, moving just a hair closer.

“Yes,” I say finally.

“And...will you visit the piano sometimes? I'm sure it would get lonely without us…”

My throat is thick. It seems so silly to think of an inanimate object getting lonely, but Eren believes the instrument has its own kind of spirit. I'm sure he's felt it as he's played it expertly, becoming one with it as his fingers glide across the keys.

I utter another shaky “yeah”.

He squeezes my hand again; I brush my thumb across his. It's these little things that send an unexpected (but not unwelcome or unpleasant) shiver up my back, physically shaking my body.

“You cold?” Eren asks.

“No.”

“Sure? I can spare one of these blankets…” He flips up the corner of the blankets in his lap.

“I'm sure.”

“Okay. But if you change your mind…”

I nod, my eyes on our hands, resting on the arm of the bench between us. I'm unsure of whether it's intentional or a part of Eren's absent, fidgety habit, but his thumb is rubbing small circles into the crook between my thumb and forefinger. Terrifyingly, it's soothing. I don't stop him.

“You don't happen to have that book from yesterday on you, do you?” he inquires.

“I do, actually.”

“Really?” His eyes are lit up with hope.

I use my free hand to slide said book from my pocket and hold it out for him to see.

“Will you read?”

“Sure.”

Another squeeze around my hand, this time in excitement. I flip through the pages, mildly grateful the spine of this book is so worn from my having read it so many times because it holds itself open, allowing me to keep ahold of Eren's hand.

I'll never openly admit it, but I've brought the book in anticipation Eren might want me to continue reading it. In fact, I hoped he would; I'm more than happy to share this story with him, and he listens in complete attentiveness, only stopping me to ask questions.

We make it through a decent chunk of the pages before Julia comes out and tells us it's time for lunch. Over bowls of Caesar salad, we discuss the story. Eren seems to harbor endless questions he's unanchoring on me, but I refuse to spoil anything for him. To this, he pouts, and then makes sure it's okay I join him in his room once lunch is over.

“What? You have to finish reading it to me,” he articulates when I cock an incredulous brow.

“You're saying you'd rather finish the book than go to the music room?”

“Yup.”

I don't argue, of course. In spite of Eren's evidence of slowing down by the mild drooping of his eyelids and his more sluggish movements, he remains adamant about my finishing the book. So I do, and he remains attentive until the very end.

By the time it's over, the sun has gone down, my throat is dry, and we're both fatigued. I'm not as worried about myself as I am Eren, however, who's clearly fighting to keep his eyes open. I'm fearful I've kept him up too long, perhaps pushed him too close to his limit, but he smiles sleepily and reaches for the book. I gently place it in his hand; he runs the pads of his fingers over it, thumbing through some pages and fingering the worn binding.

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

“You're welcome,” I murmur as he reaches to hand the book back, but the item slips from his weak fingers and thuds onto the floor.

“Crap,” he grumbles, beginning to lean over to grab it, but I stop him with a hand on his shoulder and grab it myself. He settles back into his pillows.

“I'll let you get some sleep,” I say softly.

“Okay. You...you should too…” The sentence peters out into a yawn, then a cough, and a wince of pain.

“I will.”

“And...music room…’morrow, ‘kay?”

I allow a light chuckle at his grogginess and nod. I leave him with the squeeze of a hand and a soft ‘good night’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdkfljasdf all the feels. but do let me know what you think, and thank you for reading :)
> 
> also, i just published a new fic entitled Paper Airplanes so, check that out if you'd like :3 love you guysss! ♥♥


	12. -Day 12-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohmygoodness thank you all for 1.3K reads and all the kudos and comments like holy crap I can't believe so many people seem to enjoy this story even though it's clearly one that'll tear you apart. But seriously, THANK YOU, you are all amazing ♥♥♥

“Ah, so...remember that song I promised to write for you?” Eren's asking in his scratchy voice the next morning. We reside at the piano; Eren hasn't met my eyes from the second I walked through the door. He sits to my left in his wheelchair (he can't even get up on his own anymore; my heart must be in pieces for every crack it's endured while watching his deterioration) and I'm on the bench. His trembling hands are folded in his lap, his eyes scanning the keys while mine stay on him.

“Mm-hmm,” I hum in affirmation.

“Well, I started to write it.” He stops to clear his throat, take a drink from the bottle in the side pocket of his chair. “But I'm afraid I never finished.”

It doesn't take much contemplation to figure out he's telling me this because he knows he'll never be able to finish it, and the reason for this is painfully clear. He has days…if, honestly, not hours left. His breathing is audible, labored. It seems to take great strength for him to simply move, and much of the luster I'm used to in his irises has been nearly snuffed out.

Every time I merely think about him, I know it was idiotic of me to get attached, especially so quickly and easily. I know I should've turned and walked out of this very room the moment I realized how ill this boy is. Time and time again I've told myself how this friendship can only end in pain…

...but that never stopped me from staying by his side, and it was never fully because I was humoring him as it was because I wanted to. His body might be on the very edge of death, but his gravitational pull is stronger than ever. Eren truly resembles the sun.

“I-I can play what I did get for you, if you'd like, but-”

“Yes. Please.”

“Are you sure?”

Finally, his innocent gaze falls upon me. His dark-rimmed eyes are the size of the moon; I have the strangest urge to reach out and caress his face, perhaps gently kiss his nose or his forehead…

“Certain,” I say to interrupt my thoughts.

“Okay.” A smile twitches at his lips. The Eren I know and have come to love is still in there. He will always exist despite his imminent death. For this, I'm grateful.

He begins playing as easily as always. The tune, while moderately soft, bears a darker undertone that has me leaning forward and closing my eyes to listen. It's soothing, but truthful. I feel it represents our relationship well, being honest about the situation but continuing, bittersweet, anyway…until it comes to an abrupt halt, leaving me wanting more but knowing I'll never get it.

I open my eyes. Eren's withdrawn his hands back into his lap.

“I wish I could've finished it,” he sighs.

“I liked it,” I tell him. I know he'll ask.

He never fails to smile in such a genuine way when I say things like that. I allow a slight grin back, but I don't feel it anywhere but on my lips.

“I'm glad.”

“When did you find the time to write it, anyway?”

“Remember the first day we went out to the garden, and I said I wanted to lay down afterwards?” I nod. _How could I forget? It was the first time you held my hand..._ “Then.”

I narrow my eyes a bit playfully. “You feigned not feeling well to write?” I accuse, softhearted.

Eren shrugs. “Guilty.” He laughs breathily. I shake my head. “Well, I'd also practice on other days before you got here and stuff.” He takes a minute to swallow, clear his throat and adjust the blanket in his lap. “And well, there is this other song...I didn't write it, but while I was writing your song, it was sorta my inspiration, so to make it up to you, I could play it…if you want.”

“I do,” I say immediately.

“Okay,” he murmurs, and lifts his hands back to the keyboard. “Don’t mind if I mess up...I'm...a little shaky.”

There's a breath of a pause, and he begins playing. My heart immediately lurches, squeezes in pain; my stomach twists and my lungs seem to deflate themselves all on their own. Before the end of the second measure, I recognize the song, having been one I played often in my darker days - just before I moved here and continuously after. It's been a few months since I last heard it, but I still remember all the words and melodies.

I've never sung it before, but I find the words escaping my lips along with the music. I don't know how my voice sounds - whether it's a compliment or an insult to Eren's nearly flawless playing. But I'm not paying attention to the way my voice sounds or how it blends with the piano; I'm focusing on the words and what they mean to me. To us. To this situation. I'm fixated on the resonance between Eren and myself as his pale fingers dance delicately across the keys with such a grace I've never gotten used to, as the words spill from my tongue and as the notes sound from my throat perfectly with the baby grand.

A longing I've never known before and will never come to experience again washes over me. I want to see in real life the images painted in my mind by the story of these lyrics. I want to compare those scars and to write our own stories. I want to sit on the metal, creaking of a swing on a rickety old porch as the palm trees reach toward the sky, long ago having left this dingy place. Through the harsh winters and brutal summers, through everything in between with the budding of a hundred flowers like those in the garden and the descending of yellowed leaves with a cup of tea in one hand, the other occupied by another’s fingers.

These are such feeble fantasies; though I'm certain I'm loud and clear, this is bad luck. Are we getting closer, or just more lost? I can never tell. These times aren't so extraordinary or eventful but the last two weeks are something I will hold close to my heart until the day it ceases motion. I can talk and think and write about these sudden fantasies swarming in my head and how terribly much I want them to be real, but life will not go on that long.

I want this more than anything I've wanted in my whole life. More than I want them to find a cure for my disease before I'm ripped away from the physical world, more than I want to never have been cursed with it in the first place.

I want it with Eren.

* * *

“I didn't know you sing.”

“I don't. Usually.”

“That's hard to believe.”

“Why's that?”

“Because...your voice...is…”

“Is?”

“Beautiful….I mean-!”

“Thank you.”

“Sure. And...that song...I'm surprised you know it.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. Because it just doesn't seem like it's something you'd listen to. I actually didn't think you much liked music.”

“I do.” _And so much more now that I've met you._

…

“Levi?”

“Eren?”

“Will...you continue to play even after I'm gone?”

_Will I be able to? It might hurt too much._

“You don't have to. I understand if you don't like it. I was just hoping…”

“It's absurd if you think I don't enjoy it.”

“Wait...really?”

“Really.” _Really._

“You...can't understand how happy it makes me to know that.”

_That smile will be the death of me if the common cold isn't._

“Should we head back? I'm getting a little tired.”

“If you'd like.”

“Yeah, please.”

“Alright.”

…

_Please. Let me see those eyes and that smile one more time before you go..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm curious to see if anyone can guess the song Eren played. There are hints, of course, and I may be dumb and think they're more subtle than they are...but hey, whatever, aha.


	13. -Day 13-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Why is it that beautiful things are entwined more deeply with death than with life?” –Tokyo Ghoul, Chapter 138, Kaneki Ken (Ishida Sui)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUOSqrFJ4HE) is a piano cover of Swing Life Away by Rise Against, the song Eren played and Levi sang in the previous chapter.

Julia shows up to my room the next morning before the sun has even risen to wake me, but I'm already up. A combination of insomnia and the hammering of rain on the roof of the facility has only allowed about an hour’s sleep for me.

Though I don't need an explanation for her presence, she gives me one anyway. One that breaches my limits and allows my emotions to flood from behind a dam I'd been unknowingly constructing since day one of laying eyes on green-eyed pianist.

“Eren has requested your presence,” she says, her soprano shaky and wavering. Simply her aura radiates distress and melancholy. “You're under no obligation to see him but he...only has minutes left.”

I stumble my way out of bed. Normally, I'd slip a sweatshirt on and make sure my appearance isn't a complete mess, but this time I don't even bother putting something on my feet, nor do I spare a moment to take my daily handful of pills. I'm sure my hair is unruly and my clothes are a bit off-center. I likely bear circles beneath my eyes, if not bags, and the flavor of morning breath assaults my tongue. But none of these things matter as I pad along behind the blonde toward Eren's room. My heart is hammering relentlessly in the cage of my ribs; my intestines feel like they've attempted to weave into something but failed miserably and ended up in a huge knot. My knees shake. My teeth grip the inside of my bottom lip. My hands shake. I'm so afraid of what I'm about to see.

Still, this fear doesn't stop me from softly knocking on door 104 and peeking in. Something heavy greets me at the threshold...something I've been around for years and still have no name for. It's suddenly much more potent. Harder to breathe. My teeth break the skin of my lip; the coppery taste of blood greets my taste buds.

Eren's room is the same, of course, aside from such heaviness. Even the smell remains constant. If I didn't know better, I'd expect to find him lounging around watching television or being checked up on, greeting me with that smile I adore so much as soon as his gaze finds me.

The smile does appear, though; he's staring straight at the door as soon as I emerge from behind it like he was waiting for my appearance. And I know he was.

Weak. Everything about him is weak. The way his breathtaking smile affects me, however, is not. Even in death, he is beautiful. I want to throw up.

“You came,” he rasps, barely audible.

As I tiptoe soundlessly across the room, I take him in for the last time. I could say he looks like death, but he's still Eren and death does not harbor a face. The only change is the cannula wrapped across his face, tucked neatly behind his ears, and hooked up to metal tank to the right of him.

“This is your dying wish, huh? Just to see me?” I ask.

His smile falters. Only for a second before it's even bigger than before, but it does, and I catch it. How he can still muster the strength to smile like that is beyond me.

The rain continues.

“Of course,” he utters, “You're important to me.”

Those words, simple as they are, are enough to knock me off my feet and I'm grateful for the chair behind me, right at his bedside. His eyes are practically glued to my face; and mine his. Something in those irises are trying to reassure me, yet apologize for leaving me. I don't want either of those. I just want him to go in peace, to be comfortable. And if my presence here is what it takes, even if it will scar me deeper than anything has before, I will stay.

“Will...will you hold m-my hand?” he quakes. “I'm...kinda cold…”

Easily, I lift my hands and wrap one of his gently between them. He seems to relax at the touch, weakly gripping my hand where he can.

“You could've just asked. You didn't have to make an excuse,” I say.

His grin turns sheepish. If possible, I think I see his cheeks brighten a bit with a faint shade of pink. I swallow hard, trying to be rid of the ever growing lump in my throat.

“Thanks,” he whispers. The word is followed by a dry, week cough. I wince, but he settles back into his pillows easily. He's getting weaker by the minute…

“I've been meaning to ask you something,” he rasps.

“Hmm?”

“The...the first day we met...why were you just walking around b-before…?”

“Something to do,” I tell him with a light shrug.

“Do...you do that often?”

“No.”

“Hmmm…” Smiling again. “Maybe it was fate, then. M-maybe we were s’posed to meet.”

“Perhaps,” I say. My voice is shaky. So weakly I almost don't feel it, Eren squeezes my hand. He's detected my distress.

“Y’don’t have to be here, y’know…”

“Shh. I want to be.”

“Then...I-I should tell you that...if we had met under different circumstances…I think I would've fallen in love with you.” He still finds it in him to blush, but his gaze holds steady with mine. “Or...maybe it's too late to say I could've…m-maybe I already have…”

I swear my heart skips several beats before it takes off galloping again, this time at full speed. Time, too, seemingly stands still while I frantically search for a way to react and make sense of my rampaging emotions.

_You...love me…?_

“Please say something…”

I nod shakily. My throat is thick, affecting my voice. But I have to speak.

“Me too,” I murmur. And the honesty of those two words might have blown me away were it not for Eren's hand between my palms.

“We'll meet again someday,” he whispers. I don't think he has the strength to even use his voice any longer… “Don't you think?”

I force another swallow. “I hope so.”

His smile, although light, never so much as falters. His eyes are halfway lidded and his grip on my hand is nearly nonexistent. His breathing is slow and shallow; I'm sure his heartbeats are much the same in contrast to mine, which are heavy, fast, almost ragged. My eyes are stinging and my hands are shaking around his.

“‘S it ‘kay…’f I sleep…?” he mumbles.

I can only give a slight nod of my head. His eyes only remain open for a few seconds more, never leaving my face, before they slide closed for the last time.

“Thank you, Levi…”

The words are no more than a breath. I want him to hear my voice one last time, too.

“I love you, Eren.”

The final squeeze of his hand indicates he reciprocates the feeling. Even as the entirety of his body relaxes completely, as his chest rises and falls twice more before going still, and every last ounce of life left within him fades out, that smile never leaves his features.

I lose track of how long I sit there gazing at him. He's serene. Peaceful. And he's no longer in pain (even if I am).

…

Eventually I find it in myself to stand. Reluctantly, I place his hand on his stomach and let go of it. I lean down, eyes shut, and press my lips softly against his forehead.

I don't want to leave him, but I know it isn't really him anymore. This is simply a shell. Eren himself is...likely long gone.

Shakily, I stand back up and make my way toward the door. I spare one last glance at his subtly smiling face before I depart room 104. My hands never stop shaking, nor do my knees. There are two nurses near the door, but I disregard them and make a left turn. I'm sure they know.

A right turn would take me back to my room.

A left takes me to the music room.

I linger in the doorway for a minute. The heaviness resides here, too, like the instruments themselves are mourning him.

I draw in a shaky breath as I shuffle forward. I know I shouldn't have come here...not so soon. I should've gone back to my room and buried myself in something else. This is idiotic. How can this do any good for me?

Doesn't matter, though. I don't care. I want to be here. I want to feel close to him, even if he's gone. I don't give a damn what it might do to my health, mental or otherwise.

I sink down onto the bench. The rain is pattering unrhythmically against the large windows. The day is fairly gray, but the plants of the garden are reveling in the moisture. I can't see Eren's rosebush from these windows, but that doesn't stop me from wondering…

Images suddenly flash through my head. Eren, Eren, Eren. Eyes, fingers, smiles. Eren.

_“I think...I could've fallen in love with you. Or maybe I already have.”_

I have, Eren. I have fallen for you crushingly hard in so many ways. With your smile, lighting up my dingy place in the world. With your hands, gracefully and expertly flowing over the keys of the baby grand. With your eyes, shining with so much life despite your intimacy with death and your thirst for the world. Simply, with you. With who you are, who you've been, and who you never got the chance to be. And I've fallen for you in such a strong, irrevocable way that I can't muster the words to describe.  
And now I've lost you forever.

It feels so ridiculous to hunch over the way I suddenly am, leaning over the yellowed keys likely still bearing his fingerprints, with wet trails being left down my cheeks and dripping from my chin.

Suddenly, the heaviness engulfing me shifts. Weight lifts from my shoulders and chest a bit, rendering it easier to breathe.

And I swear I feel a pair of arms wrap around me. I swear I feel some kind of warmth...and the pressure of something resting on my shoulder only momentarily before something soft brushes my forehead—a pair of lips, and they leave a warm tingle radiating from their contact.

This only lasts a second. I'm certain it was him.

I play a choppy A minor scale, snort and lean my head down against my forearm. The tears have slowed. It's past my lips before I can stop it.

_“Wait for me.”_

~

_“If love is a labor, I'll slave till the end._

_I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand.”_ ♫♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to put this out there, Major Character Death is NOT tagged to avoid spoilers for new readers. Yeah, I know, it's pretty obvious throughout the work that it will happen, but in my opinion, that's almost another reason not to tag it. Idk. So that's that.


End file.
